LITERARY NYMPHS HOT LIST

The Heart's Greater Silence by Anne Brooke

2012-02-12T14:11:00.000-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: Anne Brooke

Title: The Heart’s Greater Silence

Publisher: Riptide Publishing

Genre: M/M erotic contemporary

Release Date: 6 February 2012

Tell us about your latest release

The Heart’s Greater Silence is the story of Mark’s complex relationship with the two very different men in his life, and the choice he has to make between them.

What inspired the story?

Issues of obsession and love always fascinate me, especially the very thin dividing line between them, and the dark writing places it can carry you to. I also think the church can be both an enriching and a dangerous place, and I was very keen to set a story of sexual passion within that environment. With that in mind, one of the men in Mark’s life is a priest, with all the emotional and spiritual baggage that brings. I also love putting my main characters through very traumatic life events in which they are forced, somehow, to make a decision they never wanted to make. I think that when people are put to the test, then you really get an intimate view of who they really are. Does Mark come through such a test? You’ll have to read the story to find out ... J

EXCERPT:

Richard sprang to his feet and was beside me in two strides. He gripped my arm and pulled me out of my chair. I didn’t protest, though I knew I should have done. As always, the physical contact with him more than mastered me, and I matched him need for need, push for push, groan for groan. Within seconds, I had him against the wall, his body so seemingly fragile against mine I could have crushed him into my skin. God, I wanted to. I didn’t even know if I liked him much, but I wanted him.

I trapped him so he couldn’t get away—not, I think, that he wanted to—and ground my mouth against his. His lips opened without a fight, and I thrust my tongue deep inside. He moaned loudly, and I could feel the vibration of it in my own face. He tasted of wine and warmth. All thoughts of Craig, and who I loved and who I didn’t, slipped away as if they were nothing but shadows. All I knew was the heat of the flesh within my arms and the taste of need on my tongue.

It didn’t take long for kissing not to be enough. I pulled away, knowing the glitter in Richard’s eyes only mirrored my own. For a moment, the loss of him from my grasp felt like a desert I couldn’t cross, but then I fell to my knees and pushed up his robes.

“Take that off,” I begged him. “Please.”

He heaved a sigh up from his belly. He was trembling. “I can’t, I’m on duty,” he hissed. “You know that.”

I shook my head. “Right now I don’t know anything but you. Take it off, Richard.”

He obeyed me. The push and pull between us was making my cock ache, and it wasn’t just me, either. By the time I unzipped the trousers he wore under his robe, Richard was as hard as I was. I didn’t waste any more time—simply opened my mouth as wide as I could and took him inside.

Then I held him there, not allowing him to come, but keeping him on the brink of it. I wanted to give him pleasure, and pain too, and he knew it.

“Damn you, Mark,” he whispered, all sense of God and holiness vanishing away from him at the touch of my lips on his flesh. “You . . . you bastard.”

I wanted to tell him he was right. I was probably damned. I also wanted to tell him it was okay, and he would fuck me soon, but my mouth was too full for the words. He tasted warm and salty as I began to lick the few drops of pre-come from his tip. I loved how wide his cock was in spite of his willowy frame, and how its shape made me stretch and concentrate only on him. These days, it was the nearest thing to worship I knew, or maybe had ever known.

Purchase The Heart's Greater Silence here.

Where can we find your website?

Anne Brooke and Gay Reads.
I also have a Facebook page, a Twitter account and a blog.

Dark Night of the Moon by Keta Diablo

2012-02-08T09:34:00.000-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Title: Dark Night of the Moon

Publisher: Keta Diablo
Genre: Paranormal/Western/Shapeshifter
Release Date: January 15, 2012

Tell us about your latest release

Thank you so much for asking. I'm really excited about the sequel to Holding On To Heaven, DARK NIGHT OF THE MOON, a paranormal shifter. For those who loved my Native American raven-shapeshifter, Where The Rain Is Made, I think they'll also love Dark Night of the Moon, a wolf-shapeshifter. Available here on Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/ketadiablo/e/B002BODURI

Here's the blurb:

Dark Night of the Moon is the second book in the series and the sequel to Holding on to Heaven.

Creed Gatlin flees to Arizona intent on eradicating the haunting memories of his brother’s wife. His brother Brand, presumed dead, resurfaces after a long absence and with his re-emergence, the destinies of those he loves is altered forever.

In a land rife with war and danger, Sage must travel to the village of her husband’s People. There, she is reunited with Crooked Back, the ancient healer. One the long trek back to Full Circle, devious plots are underfoot and peril lurks around every corner for Sage, Lauren and Peter Pa.

Dark Night of the Moon will take you on an unforgettable journey of war, violence, overwhelming grief, and finally, compassion and love.

What inspired the story?

Well, the first story, of course, Holding On To Heaven (more abut this book here on Kindle: http://amzn.to/v03tFa). I left HOTH open at the end, a cliffhanger. I always intended to write a sequel one day. Some reviewers have referred to the story of the McCains and the Gatlins as epic. It would be pretty hard to include all the plots into one book. Number two, I write in several genres, but always seem to gravitate back to Historical and Romance. These books are a hard-sell in the market, not the most popular like paranormal or urban fantasy, but I want to write what I like (selfish, I know). Most of what I read is Historical when I have time, although there's little of that commodity around. LOL.

Here's the blurb for Holding On To Heaven which gives you a little insight to the major plot.

Brothers in love with the same woman -- one the father to her child, the other her husband. An epic historical spanning two generations.

The Civil War has crumbled a Nation, and the Dakota Sioux are on the warpath. While the blazing fires of revolt ravage the countryside, twins, Lauren and Sage McCain are trapped amid the flames of destiny.
Holding on to Heaven is a story of family betrayal, heart-stopping danger, and passionate love, a love that crosses all boundaries and forges all cultures.

* * *

I think I should insert a caveat here so readers know what they're buying. I don't write cookie-cutter characters; they're out of the box, and I most definitely don't write formulaic romance--boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, and boy and girl live Happily Ever After. That is just not me and I can't write like that. "Real life" comes with problems, people come with flaws, and although this is fiction, everyone keeps saying the story has to be believable. Here's my question: How can a story be believable if your characters are all the same and your plot is a spin-off from the same old-same old? One reviewer who has read almost all my books put it this way and I think she sums it up perfectly. "Diablo writes out of the box. If you're looking for a standard boy meets girl romance here, you won't find it between the pages of her books. Naughty, naughty author. I highly recommend Diablo as a writer."

EXCERPT:

Set-up: Sage, one of the heroines, takes an arrow meant for the wolf.

Late in the afternoon, Sage emerged from the tipi. She didn't have to search for Looks Back. He lurked outside the lodge like a Roman soldier guarding a sacred tomb. She pointed to the woods -- a sign she needed to relieve her bladder.
A bow and a quiver of arrows hung from his left shoulder and tucked into the waistband of his leggings, the shiny handle of his long knife glistened beneath the hot sun.
With Looks Back dogging the heels of her moccasins, Sage selected a clearing surrounded by tall pines and dense underbrush. Respecting her privacy, the brave turned his back, but kept his sharp eyes peeled on the outskirts of the clearing.
The branches on a nearby scrub rustled. No doubt a critter searching for his next meal. The eerie feeling someone was watching her claimed her again, a sensation she couldn't ignore. She turned her head toward the noise and uttered a quiet gasp when her eyes met the yellow eyes of the wolf. "Walking Spirit," she whispered, her heart pounding.
Time hung suspended on the boundary of sanity and absurd. Reason told her men didn't turn into wolves, and yet she knew in her heart her man had.
Looks Back spun around, his keen sense alerted to danger. He pulled an arrow from his quiver as Sage scrambled to her feet and adjusted her clothing. His eyes narrowed; he notched and arrow drew back on the sinew.
"No!" she screamed and lunged toward the shrub. A white-hot pain shot through her chest. She looked down and watched the blood soak her doeskin dress. My blood? Sage fell to her knees and then crumbled to the ground, the canopy of pine branches spinning overhead. "Run, Walking Spirit, run," she gasped between pain-filled breaths.
Looks Back loomed over her, his face masked in terror. He drew her into his arms and sprinted back to camp, stumbling over his own feet as he entered Mad Bear's lodge. Laying her on her berth of soft branches he knelt beside her and stared at the arrow embedded in her torso.
Pain choked her when she turned to look at him. "You must pull the arrow
out."
Tremors claimed his lean body when the howl of the wolf split the still air. He rose and paced the tipi, his eyes locked on the opening.
"You must pull it out! If you don't, I'll die, and so will you when Mad Bear returns."
He came to an abrupt halt, his face white with fear. "I can not do this thing."
"You can and you will." She didn't believe for a minute he cared about her welfare, but she had to convince him if he didn't remove the arrow Mad Bear would kill him when he returned. That was her only chance.
He knelt beside her again, sweat from his forehead trickling into his dark eyebrows. He jumped when the haunting lament from the wolf echoed around them.
"Soon I will lose consciousness from the loss of blood. You must hurry --break it off close to the skin."
His voice trembled. "Then what must I do?"
"Dig the arrow out with your knife."
"No, no. Do not ask this of Looks Back."
Struggling for breath, she rose to an elbow and stared into his dark eyes. "You listen to me. I'll be dead by nightfall if you don't. My medicine pouch, there." She pointed to a shelf over her berth. Find the bone needle and pull a strong hair from your horse's tail to sew up the wound when you're done."
The brave rose, pulled the pouch from the shelf and handed it to her. She dumped the contents on the floor and held a twisted stem before him. "Cat's claw. Once the arrow is removed, place the leaves over the wound and
cover it with a wet rag."
He shook his head.
"No more talk." She softened her voice. "If you plan to grow old, you must remove it. Now, find a leather thong I can put between my teeth, and be quick."

* * *

Dark Night of the Moon is available here on Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/ketadiablo/e/B002BODURI

Where can we find your website? Keta's Keep: http://ketaskeep.blogspot.com

Where can we find you on Twitter? @ketadiablo

~ Website ~ Blog ~ The Stuff of Myth and Men ~

~*~

Where the Rain is Made ~*~

Blood Moon,Yellow Sky by A.M. Burns

2012-02-01T19:07:00.001-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: A.M. Burns

Title: “Blood Moon, Yellow Sky”
Publisher: Mystichawker Press
Genre: Urban Fantasy/paranormal romance
Release Date: 12/18/11

What inspired the story?

I started writing the book several years ago, and at the time there weren’t a lot of gay paranormal things that I could find. I was shooting for sorta of a gay version of some of the popular series out there like the early Anita Blake or Harry Dreseden books. My original Draft had a lot more vampires, but they got changed out. Now the main character is a dragon, and that change brought him to life in ways that being a vampire never did. The response from readers has been amazing. I am hard at work on the sequel which should be out shortly.

EXCERPT:

Alex pushed back at everything trying to shield himself from all the outside forces that pounded at him, at us. His shield pushed at our tenuous link and only our continued physical contact held it in place. I tried to strengthen his shields, to protect us and at the same time calm his mind, get him to focus again. I reached out for him by totally entering the astral with him. Here too, our hands linked as in the physical world. He was running. I stopped him. A myriad of emotions played across his features. He brought our linked hands up to his mouth and kissed my fingers. I couldn’t pull back. The lust from the room and my own heart combined and the force was too strong. He moved his hands up my arms. He couldn’t break the link. His astral hands moved up to my shoulders and he pulled me into an embrace, totally losing himself in the emotions permeating the room.

His kiss was warm and tender. We held it as our astral bodies sought to become one. I returned the kiss. I couldn’t help myself. I knew this was not the time, place or conditions, but the lust was too strong. The feel of his body next to mine felt so right. It’d been too long since I held another in my arms for even a moment of passion. His body responded with a lust of its own. I glanced down, and hoped that the astral body was an accurate representation of the physical in this case. Then an idea came to me.

I surrendered to the lust from the room and totally opened the door to my own desires. The feelings I had every time Alex walked into a room. The pain I felt, leaving him alone in his bed last night. I pushed at him with all that lust as I crushed him to my body. My lust was stronger than that from the outside and pushed it back. Alex apparently saw my intentions and copied me. His intensity increased and was almost my undoing, but I kept one thought in the back of my mind. I wanted him somewhere other than this filthy couch in this place where the human predators prowled too close to us. The hope for perfection kept that strand of control thinner than a spider’s web, but just as strong.

When the emotions retreated far enough, I pulled us out of the astral plane and back to our bodies. As the sensations of my physical body came back to me, I realized I was sprawled across Alex’s lap. His regular breathing felt good through the fabric of my shirt and the heat from his body felt natural and very right. The next second, his breathing changed slightly as he emerged from his trance. For a moment, he lingered where he was, but moved one hand to trace the contours of my arm that hung to the floor. His body responded to the action, and to my surprise, mine did, too. I caught his hand in mine and held it close as I sat up.

I sat next to him on the couch for a moment in silence, still holding his hand. As in the astral world, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it softly. He looked at me with soft green eyes that held no mischief, only deep emotions. “Tal.” He started, but I pressed our hands against his lips.

“Later.” I moved in close and kissed him lightly on lips, his scent filled me. I wanted that aroma by me always.

I started to pull away, but he held me close and kissed me back with passion and need.

Where can we find your website?

www.amburns.com

Thanks for this opportunity.

Andy Burns

A.M. Burns

www.amburns.com

Blacker than Black by Rhi Etzweiler

2012-01-29T18:50:00.001-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: Rhi Etzweiler

Title: Blacker Than Black
Publisher: Riptide Books
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Release Date: 23 January 2012

What inspired the story?

Pure and simple, “Blacker Than Black” is a genderfuck urban fantasy. It’s an engaging exploration of labels, roles, and the individual’s perception when forced to set these aside. It began as a challenge to step outside my comfort zones as a writer – it’s written in first person, present tense – and evolved into a journey that challenged me to redefine my comfort zones on a number of different levels.

EXCERPT:

[If you haven’t read it yet, the previous excerpt is over here at It’s Raining Men (http://rainingmenamen.blogspot.com).]

Chapter Nine, continued:

I grimace, rooted to my spot on the marble floor for the space of a heartbeat. For some reason I can’t quite define, I’m disappointed Garthelle maintained such an excessive distance from me. Disappointed, and grateful. Relieved I don’t have to struggle with the warring responses of lust and fear. I’m not in the mood for a tug-of-war this evening.

It’s my sister’s turn to grab hold and drag me in her wake. “I know this is rather disconcerting for you,” she mutters over her shoulder, “considering how he gorged on you just two days ago. But please, Black . . . please try to be professional, for all our sakes.”

Fuck. I hadn’t even thought of that. Two days, and the vamp’s chi is still thrumming in my veins like a sugar high. The edge is gone, but . . . In the past, with any other john, I’d be back on the boulevard, back to good. Maybe still feeling a faint tug, a tenuous awareness, but not anything of this caliber. Garthelle owns me, though. I’ve no choice in the matter.

“You’re scaring me, Red.” I pull on her to snare her attention.

The vampire is far enough ahead; if he can hear us, he’s playing ignorant. I don’t think he can. I watch him, looking for any shift or tensing in his unconscious body language. There’s nothing. He keeps walking down the corridor even when Jhez stops and turns to face me. Track lighting along the floor throws strange shadows over the contours of her face, makes the masonry walls resemble abstract art.

She offers a dim smile at my use of the impromptu nickname. Her gaze flicks over my face and tense shoulders, and she reaches up to cup my cheeks. Her forehead rests against mine as she stares into my eyes. “They can sense fear, remember?” I swallow, my mouth parched, and nod. “Center yourself. Garthelle gains nothing from endangering you, or me, under his own roof. And he’s definitely looking to get something out of this.” A grimace twists at one corner of her mouth, gone just as quickly. Jhez isn’t so certain of her attempt to reassure me. “Suck it up, bucko.”

Just as she releases me, Garthelle clears his throat nearby. As focused as I am, the sound nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “It is easy to become lost in this place.”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, turning my attention inward. Pooling energy into my center. Jhez takes me by the elbow and guides me down the hall after Garthelle. Even with my eyes closed, I know precisely where he is. It takes effort to force the awareness away and focus on gathering myself.

“Is he well?” Garthelle’s neutral tone makes my senses perk up. I imagine she’s taking the opportunity to glare at him.

“He’ll be fine.” Her grip tightens a fraction, fingertips digging into my biceps. The desire to laugh surges, and I shove it back down into my stomach along with the rest of the energy I’m siphoning from my extremities.

Silence reigns, thankfully, only disturbed by the tattoo of our footsteps until Jhez stops me with a slight tug. I open my eyes, exhale slowly. Dark mahogany doors loom before us.

“Here we are.” Garthelle’s shoulders tense, and a tingle of discomfort slides over my aura from his general direction. “Stay close to me and don’t wander off for any reason.” He looks back over his shoulder, gaze jagging over each of us. “Follow my directions to the letter and you’ll be fine.”

He pushes one of the doors inward, walking through and standing aside to hold it open. Jhez’s reassuring touch falls away as she follows.

Garthelle studies me, rather intently, as I walk through the door and step aside. He moves closer, pushing the door closed, but his gaze doesn’t waver. The piercing quality I’ve grown accustomed to isn’t present. With him so close, his aura tangles with mine along the fringes. It feels colored with the same concern I’m reading in his expression.

His lips part slightly, as though to say something. But he doesn’t. A trill of laughter from somewhere within the room breaks his focus, and he shifts away. With his gaze no longer trapping me, I turn to take in his party. Tensing involuntarily, pulling my aura tight and close. Barely resisting the urge to fold my arms over my stomach as another defensive barrier between the congregated lyche and my tightly pooled energy.

I’d expected vampires waiting to pounce on us the moment we stepped inside. Instead, they’re scattered in small groups through the space and appear generally preoccupied.

Strategically placed ottomans, benches, and couches partition the large room—and the crowd of guests—into more intimate groups. Nothing gaudy or glaring here; subtle flashes of muted color snag attention amongst the dark tones of mahogany, navy, umber, and forest. Walls of polished wood paneling glow in the generous caress of firelight. Spanning halfway to the ceiling, the hearth roars with an impressively hungry blaze. The air is only pleasantly warm, not stifling as I would have expected from such a massive heat source.

And there are people everywhere. Cozily situated on furniture, loitering in groups, even lounging on the deep shag rug in front of the hearth. I’d envisioned a simple, intimate gathering of a dozen vampires. This isn’t it. More like thirty, without bothering to attempt a headcount.

Taking in the ambiance of the room, the quality of the decor, the lethargy of the vampires, I smile. “Now this is more like it.”

Jhez laughs.

Garthelle leads us to the far corner of the room along a winding path through various gaggles of conversation. A small gathering of six is scattered over a private grouping of couches. The corner tables are crowded with a collection of empty and half-full glasses, and one person lies sprawled on the floor in their midst.

A vampire in energy thrall, from the looks of it. Or a very stoned Nightwalker, which I wouldn’t immediately discount; I’m not close enough to sense the difference. Some of them like to feed from us when we’re in that semi-lucid state of influence. I guess it would make for an . . . attractive experience, under the right circumstances. Or, it could.

Garthelle watches me study the individual on the floor, who’s staring at some distant point on the high ceiling with a heavy-lidded gaze. I wonder what they see. He steps closer to me, motions Jhez toward an unoccupied couch.

“Have you ever done that before?” His curiosity is too strong to resist, judging by the sensation tingling in my veins. The energy I took from him resonates through me like the hum of his car—the purr of a kitten vibrating the hand that strokes it.

“Depends.” I admire the honey blonde hair fanned out across the black shag.

“On what?”

“On the substance.”

He glances down. “Meth, most likely.”

“Ah. No.”

One of his black brows arches up his forehead. “What do you use?”

“More naturally-occurring substances.” I flash a smile at him.

“We’ve plenty to choose from. Would it help you relax?”

I roll my shoulders, not certain if the movement is a shrug or a dismissive gesture. “Yes, it would. But it won’t help me do my job.” I walk over and settle onto the couch next to Jhez, who rolls her eyes and jerks her head in the direction of the couch opposite us.

Two vampires, sharing a nibble. Each time they draw a tendril of energy from the young man between them, his body twitches involuntarily. I twist around, stretching out on the couch to rest my head in my sister’s lap. There’s something about watching them feed that unsettles me. Especially when their victim has no clue how to manage the torrential level of sensations coursing through his body. Immature. Amateur. Grotesque, after so many years.

Don’t forget to leave a comment with your email address to enter the drawings! Look for the next excerpt that picks up where this one leaves off, tomorrow on Louisia Bacio’s blog (http://louisabacio.blogspot.com). Or, if you can’t wait, get your own copy of “Blacker Than Black” over here at Riptide.

For more info on Rhi’s writings:

Email address: RhiAnon.Etzweiler@gmail.com

Website: http://www.RhiAnonEtzweiler.com

Blog: http://RhiAnonEtzweiler.blogspot.com

Twitter: @musefodder

Facebook Profile: here

Goodreads Profile: here

Amazon Author Page: here

Google+ Profile: here

Get “Dark Edge of Honor” here

Take Me Home by Sloan Parker

2012-01-22T08:53:00.000-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: Sloan Parker

Title: Take Me Home

Publisher: Loose Id

Genre: LGBT Suspense

Release Date: December 13, 2011

Tell us about your new release

Take Me Home is a friends-to-lovers story that takes place during the six days leading up to Christmas. Here’s the short blurb: Ten years after their one and only night in each other’s arms, best friends Kyle and Evan finally give in to passion and new sexual roles while trapped in a blizzard and solving a mystery as they head home for the holidays.

What inspired the story?

This story came to me one day while I was taking a shower. I have no idea what I’d been thinking about (other than I knew I wanted to write a friends-to-lovers story at some point). An hour after that shower, I had several pages of ideas and had flushed out the main premise. At that point I knew Take Me Home would be about two friends taking a journey home for the holidays. They were going to explore a relationship and new sexual roles while they figured out just how much they really did care for each other, and figured out why people wanted to steal an old journal one of them carried with him. From that moment on, I was driven to write Kyle and Evan’s story.

EXCERPT:

Evan shivered. Which made no sense. He was still warm from the run, the sweat on his skin not even dry yet.

Kyle took another step. Evan wanted him to stop. He wanted to shout all the reasons why this had to stop, before it got started, wanted to tell Kyle not to move another inch.
He didn't.

And Kyle didn't stop coming at him until they were practically touching, Kyle staring down at him.

Evan tried to focus on Kyle's words, on the news about the journal and his grandpa, but all he could think about was what he'd seen when he'd walked into the apartment: Kyle, all skin and taught muscles, wearing only his tight-as-sin white underwear, the briefs stretched over his cock, and the way Kyle had looked at him in the dim light of the hallway.

Just once. He's leaving anyway. Evan closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation. He looked up at Kyle again. "Are you okay?"

Yeah." Kyle said the word with a slight curve of his lips. He took a step back and reclined against the wall, looking casual, like he was about to flirt with a bartender for a free drink.

"After I read it, I was thinking about that night in the motel room in Iowa on our first drive out here." He slowly swung his head in Evan's direction. "Do you remember that night?"

Evan nodded.

"Do you ever think about it?" Kyle's voice was barely a whisper.
Up until a few months ago, Evan hadn't let himself, but since he'd moved in with Kyle...

"Sometimes."

"Like right now?"

"Yeah."

Kyle slid along the wall, traveling the last remnants of space between them. "Ev, I've been waiting ten years to finish what we started." He pushed off the wall and turned until they were face-to-face again, his dark eyes unflinching as he leaned in. He stopped before their lips touched. The heat of that mouth and body so close stoked the fire inside Evan.

His own body reacted, his cock pushing at his shorts. He wanted to shove Kyle against the wall and kiss him until morning, do everything he'd ever dreamed of when it came to touching Kyle, everything he ached to feel about the man.

The smile Kyle gave him next wasn't the usual cocky one he'd used with countless guys over the years. He pressed forward and slid his lips along Evan's skin from the base of his neck to his earlobe, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He lingered over Evan's ear and whispered, "You smell so damn good. I want to fuck you, Ev."

Evan shivered again. "We shouldn't..." He couldn't say more. Didn't want to. The time for talking was over. Kyle ran the tip of his tongue along the outside of Evan's ear, and Evan instinctively moved closer. His breath hitched with the touch of Kyle's bare abs against him. Why had he worn a T-shirt to go running?

Using only the weight of his body, Kyle turned them until Evan's back was against the hall wall, then flattened his palms to the wall on either side of Evan's head. He licked his lips and spread his legs until their bodies lined up groin to groin, then rolled his hips, putting pressure against Evan's cock. "God, Ev..."

With that movement, those two words, Evan groaned and let his head fall back to the wall. He couldn't stop himself. He rocked his hips in time with Kyle's. The feel of Kyle's body, his hard cock against him, drove his own arousal higher.

Kyle spoke again, his voice even lower. "It could be so fucking good."

Evan lost track of the arguments he'd been telling himself since he'd left the apartment earlier. He raised his head, and their lips met, the softest brush of flesh until Kyle opened his mouth, seized Evan by the back of the head, and slid his tongue into the touch. The kiss deepened, and Evan thought he'd never be able to stop feeling Kyle's mouth on his, their tongues pressed together.

Where can we find your website?
www.sloanparker.com

2012-01-16T07:01:00.000-06:00

Peek-a-Boo (Josh of the Damned, #2)

By Andrea Speed

ISBN: 978-1-937551-16-2

Release: Jan 9 2012
Page count: 15
Heat Wave: 2 - Kisses and touches, no love scenes
Genre: Comedy, horror, urban fantasy / paranormal
Pairing: Gay
Species: monster (other), vampire (traditional), yeti

As night-shift clerk at the go-to Quik-Mart for monsters with the munchies, Josh Caplan believes he’s seen it all. Battling lizard men, werewolves chasing cars in the parking lot . . . nothing fazes Josh anymore.

Or so he thinks, at least, until a yeti with poor communication skills drops a dead skunk on the checkout counter. Josh can’t figure what a living, breathing shag carpet wants with him, or why it won’t leave him alone no matter how hard he ignores it. But hey, at least it seems harmless . . . if perhaps a little slow on the draw.

But Sasquatch is plenty fast when two of Josh’s human customers try to out-monster the monsters. Times are strange when creatures from the hell portal save the day, but in the protective hands of a lovesick yeti and a sexy vampire boyfriend, Josh realizes that maybe his new normal isn’t so bad after all.

In Teddy’s Arms by K.M. Mahoney

2012-01-11T15:28:00.000-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: K.M. Mahoney

Title: In Teddy's Arms

Publisher: Total-E-Bound

Genre: M/M Romance/Contemporary/Holiday

Release Date: December 12, 2011

Tell us about your latest release

In Teddy's Arms is a short holiday story about a pair of friends stranded in the mountains over Christmas. You can guess where it goes from there :)

What inspired the story?

This story was really inspired by the submissions call for the Yuletide Yearnings collection at Total-E-Bound. Often if I'm stuck on a current work in progress, I'll scroll through the open calls from my publishers and see if anything sparks. I like short story/novella calls the best, as they can give me a little break from the longer projects without stopping the creative momentum! In this case, I thought of being snowed in, a cosy cabin, a cheery fire. With that as the background, giving the room a warm and comfortable feeling, I wanted the rest of the story to reflect that. So, I returned to one of my favorite type of relationships, friends to lovers. I love exploring the dynamics between two people who are so comfortable together that they have, in some ways, stopped seeing each other. Then I like to tip them over that narrow ledge and watch the fun!

EXCERPT:

“Are you sure about this?”

“Teddy, ask me that again, and I’m going to pull this car over and toss you into a snow drift.”

Teddy sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and huffed. “Sheesh, cranky much?”

Pierce rolled his eyes. For a second, he entertained the lovely image that the steering wheel he was gripping so tightly was, in fact, Teddy’s neck. “The first three times you asked that question, I answered. The next six times, I ignored you. You’ve now moved beyond that and are into obnoxiously irritating. Stow it.”

Silence enveloped the interior of the car for several long moments.

Then Teddy mumbled, “Sorry.”

Pierce grinned. That was his Teddy. He never could stay at odds with anyone for very long.

“Turn right in one-point-two miles,” the GPS system stated in a dull, broken monotone.

“Thank God.” Pierce nearly whooped. “I think we’re getting close.” He turned where the small navigation map on his dashboard indicated. The bottom of their battered sedan scraped ominously over the snow-covered gravel.

All right, so maybe Teddy had a point. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea Pierce had ever had. But it was a little bit too late to back out now. No way in hell was Pierce driving back down this mountain in the dark.

I don’t see anything,” Teddy said, sounding doubtful. He chewed on his fingernail, expression nervous, eyes fastened on the darkening woods surrounding the small road.

“It’s up here. Somewhere.” Damn. That hadn’t come out as reassuring as Pierce had hoped.

The GPS remained unhelpfully silent as the car bumped its way along. Twilight was quickly turning into night. The looming pines closing in on all sides didn’t help, deepening the gloom. They were truly in the middle of nowhere, no streetlights, no sidewalks, the roads rough. Hell, there wasn’t even a McDonald’s. Civilisation was most definitely far behind them.

At the moment, Pierce would have gladly traded his stupid GPS system for just one tacky strand of twinkling Christmas lights. Anything to suggest they weren’t lost in the mountains. And why the hell was it so dark out here?

The cabin practically jumped out at them. Pierce rounded a curve and slammed on the brakes. His heart thumped madly as he studied the battered porch steps, dangerously close to his front bumper. Beside him, Teddy let out a belated squeak of alarm.

“Destination in five hundred feet,” the GPS chimed.

“Now it tells me.” Pierce scowled fiercely and stabbed the ‘off’ button on the obnoxious little box. “Worthless piece of shit.”

Teddy had stopped staring at the scenery and was now eying the cabin with trepidation. Pierce had to admit it didn’t look like much. The porch was a bit wonky, the wood siding faded in spots, peeling in others. Dark and tiny, it bore a disturbing resemblance to something from a horror film.

“Maybe the inside is nicer,” Pierce declared.

Amazing, how loudly Teddy could project his doubt without saying a word.

“It’s a true gift, that,” Pierce said.

“Say what? Never mind. I guess we better unload.” Teddy added a resigned sigh, “But if it’s this bad on the inside, we’re finding a hotel tomorrow.”

Pierce almost asked how they would pay for it, then bit his tongue. Teddy would probably decide to sleep in the car. Then he would freeze to death in the middle of the night and Pierce would have to explain to Teddy’s parents how he let their son turn into a nice, hard, ice-coated statue.

Pierce shook his head to dislodge his stupid ramblings and climbed out of the car. He took a minute to stretch the kinks out of his back because, damn, that had been a long trip.

Using the remote to pop the trunk, Pierce hauled out his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He shivered in the cold and grabbed his coat from the back seat. He should probably put it on, but he’d be inside in a minute.

He waded through the drifts piled against the porch. It took him a minute of fruitless searching before he realised the first step was busted. He could move his foot around in the six inch layer of snow and never find it because it simply wasn’t there.

“Watch the steps,” he called over his shoulder.

Teddy started muttering again. Pierce ignored what he knew were complaints and cautiously mounted the steps. He stuck the key the rental agent had given him into the lock. The door swung on creaking hinges before he could turn the key.

Okay, not exactly the best sign,” Pierce said to himself.

He pushed the door the rest of the way open, anyway. The room was dark and the musty smell made his nose tingle. The cabin was also cold, nearly as bad as outside.

Pierce felt around the wall and found the switch. It clicked on and dim light flooded the space. Relief swamped him. The glow from the single bulb didn’t quite chase all the shadows away, but hey, they had electricity. At the moment, Pierce wasn’t going to take anything for granted.

Then he surveyed the room and groaned. “Teddy’s gonna hate it.”

“Hate what?”

Pierce jumped and whirled around, facing his best friend with his biggest fake smile. “Nothing, it’s great. Warm and cosy. All we need is that fake tree I packed and we’re good to go.”

Teddy stared at him with solemn brown eyes. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true, I’m a magnificent liar.” Just not to Teddy.

That’s what happened when you knew someone since kindergarten.

Teddy knew all Pierce’s tricks.

Teddy just kept staring. “There are spiders, aren’t there?” he asked soberly.

“It’s too cold for spiders. Come on, let’s explore.”

Teddy entered the room gingerly, as if Freddy Krueger was going to come jumping around the corner and start hacking away.

Pierce slung his duffel in the corner and planted his hands on his hips.

“First thing, we need to make a fire.”

“Do you even know how?”

“Sure,” Pierce said with false confidence.

“The rental agent said we can find wood on the back porch. I’ll get started.”

“If there’s no water, I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” Teddy said.

Where can we find your website?

http://www.authorkmmahoney.com

Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/authorkmmahony

Twitter @authorkmmahoney

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Forever in One Second by Finn Marlowe

2012-01-08T13:09:00.000-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: Finn Marlowe
Title: Forever In One Second
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Genre: m/m Contemporary
Release Date: January 10, 2012

What inspired the story?

Originally I intended the story to be darker and more action-driven, but when it was about half-written, the message I was creating in the book turned prophetic in a way, for me, and I discovered how true it really is that one second can change your life forever - my husband passed away, unexpectedly, from a heart attack (at the age of 46). Once I was able to write again, I went back to the story, bitter and resentful at first, and then with a sense of hope that maybe I could be more like Dane Harper in the story, and perhaps learn to see the bright side, or look for the silver lining in any black rain cloud, or note that the glass is half-full, instead of always half-empty. Some days I’m successful, and sometimes I’m more like Courtenay Woods, and need a little nudge to remember all the wonderful things I’ve received, often in that same one second twist of fate.

EXCERPT:

Playing the best game ever invented by man and playing it well always made Dane horny. Something about kicking the other team’s ass so soundly they had to limp home in shame just made his dick want to stand up and wave bye-bye as they slunk to their bus. Tonight he’d been hotter than hot. Hell, he’d been on fucking fire, probably because Court was at the game this time, watching him, making him excited and…lighting him on fucking fire. He’d made it around the bases so many times; he’d worn himself a trench. And tonight he was gonna hit all the bases with the seriously hot Courtenay with the killer blue eyes. A man was nothing without a plan, and he’d worked out every detail.

Court, being a tease, was stalling. Maybe he needed his ass kicked too? Got them both sucked into helping the coach load everything into his van, and it wasn’t even his turn. It was Scott’s turn, and the jerk had sneaked off just as skillfully as the losing team, heading for the bar. Shithead. Played so crappy, he deserved to slink. Dane would get Courtenay alone soon enough, and he’d do more to that ass than kick it.

“Got yourself a boyfriend, eh?” the coach asked under his breath as Court gathered up their stuff.

“Hope so.”

“Don’t let him take your mind off the game.”

“Did it look like my mind wasn’t on the game?”

“Hell, no. That’s gotta be the best game you’ve ever played. He just looks like trouble.”

“Court? You gotta be kidding me. Mr. Straight Arrow?”

“Not that kind of trouble,” he said with a headshake. “How can you stand those eyes? Creepy. And he’s too good-looking for a guy.”

“Better not let him hear you say that. He’ll kick your ass-end into the next county.”

“Behave yourself.”

“Not a chance.” And he truly meant that. Court was playing hard-to-get and still hanging on to that whole Stockholm Syndrome thing with all his might. Realizing he had to fight facts with facts and fire with fire, he’d looked it up on the Internet. Bunch of bullshit. Court was damn gorgeous. And interesting and smart and liked his jokes, and Dane’s feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with misplaced emotions. Thank you very much, Stockholm, but he’d be keeping Court and keeping that slow, sexy smile he got as the man walked over to join them, everything put away at last. “See you next week,” he said to his coach. The good-bye was said absently, though, because he was mesmerized by those frickin’ awesome eyes sizing him up where it counted.

“Ready?” Court asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Fucking right he was ready. They’d had dinner together, third time this week, and had no plans for the rest of the evening other than to spend it together. And Dane meant to redefine together, damn it.

“You’re really good,” Court said.

So Court meant baseball—Dane sure as hell meant something else. “Yes, I am.”

Something in his tone must have given him away, and Court got instantly flustered. “Coming over, then?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Ah…uh,” Court sputtered. “You sound like a man with a plan.”

Yes Dane did have a plan, many in fact, and all of them lead to the same result. Didn’t shy, easily startled Courtenay like hearing about his plans in advance? What worked once would work again. Talking—talking dirty—was his specialty. Court was gonna get some serious hands-on time. Another home run coming up! “I’ll tell you about my secret plan when we get to your place, and you won’t even need your decoder ring to figure it out.”

During the past week, Court had learned to loosen up some, and it showed in his good mood and flirtatious smile. “Good. ’Cause watching you run around in that uniform all night has been driving me crazy.”

“Yeah? Like what you see?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “Those breeches are very tight.”

Breeches? Did he mean his pants? They were getting tighter. How was he supposed to drive like this? “Get in,” he growled. “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

Speed demon that he was, they made it to Court’s in record time, barely long enough for him to suck back his second bottle of water. Court made him thirsty. Made him impatient too, taking forever to open the goddamn door with those twitchy fingers he always got when he was excited.

“Help yourself to the shower,” Court offered, flinging Dane’s pack and cleats onto the discarded shoes by the door. “Want a drink?”

“No. I want you.” Startling Courtenay was so easy. “And I plan on getting you.” Court stumbled over a stray shoe and then his own feet backing into the kitchen. The blue eyes were open wide with alarm, but the sexy, easy smile remained. “Come here, babe.”

“You’re a pushy bastard. Good thing you look damn fine in that uniform.”

Court couldn’t back up any farther; he’d reached the countertop. Dane put his hands on either side of the cornered body, gripped the Formica lip and imprisoned him neatly. Kissing Court was fucking awesome, and it was no wonder he wanted to do it all the time. Being aggressive and not fighting his nature, Dane stuck his tongue in the other man’s mouth immediately and forcefully. Court’s gasp of shock went straight to Dane’s dick. Sliding his knee between Court’s legs, Dane shoved the long legs apart and used the extra space for his own restless leg. Now there was more room to press his groin nice and tight against Court’s and rub eager body parts together.

Uh-huh. First base already. Court was being cooperative tonight, and it was about damned time. What was he fighting? There was obviously something good going on between them. Every friggin’ time they touched, it was like being zapped with electricity. Not quite as powerfully as that first time on the deck—that had really been something—but the first touch after being apart always brought on a little lightning storm he’d come to like very much. Always wanted to be a storm chaser, and it really was true, there was nothing better than getting your fondest wish.

“You’re all riled up tonight, aren’t you?” Court panted after Dane had finally quit shoving his tongue down his throat. Stupid need to breathe always interrupted the good stuff.

“Playing ball always does it to me.”

“You were hot tonight.”

“Were? Were?”

“You’re always hot,” he agreed, sliding a hand along Dane’s hip until it found his ass. “But I meant you played good. You’re fast.”

“Squeeze harder, babe.” The fondling hand obeyed. “Teddy could never catch me. I was such a little shit, I had to be fast. He’d have pounded me to a bloody pulp if he ever caught me.” The fondling felt very good and required some earlobe biting in return. “I love your hands on me.” Was so nice finally finding a man who liked necking as much as he did. “Stop fighting it, Court.”

A twitch—just a little one. Dane felt it ripple under his tongue where it was busy licking down Court’s neck. “I’m…I’m not—”

“Oh, yes you are. You’re fighting it with everything you got.”

“Am not.”

“Come upstairs with me.” So he couldn’t argue, Dane kissed him again. Courtenay wasn’t fighting that very hard. Seemed to be really getting into it, kissing him back with such skill and determination Dane might have to do a little twitching of his own, and not just his cock, either. That had been twitching for quite some time already. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then what are you afraid of? It’s not that big.”

Gone was the nice fondling. Court smacked Dane’s ass.

“Come on, babe. Tell me. We can spit out the truth with each other. You know that.”

The startling blue of Court’s eyes struck him once again. Was he trying to see into his soul or something? Maybe they were a tad creepy. “I’m afraid of…”

Giving him a nudge of encouragement, Dane slid his fingers into the hair at his nape, gently cupped his head and kissed him softly between the eyes, making them close. There was far too much dark knowledge in those sad eyes, and he could take only a little at a time. “Afraid of…?”

“Liking you,” he confessed.

Another kiss, this time on the lips. No tongue. “I was under the impression you already liked me.”

“Liking you…a lot.”

Where can we find your website?

http://www.finnmarlowe.com/

2012-01-04T14:40:00.000-06:00

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: J.L. O'Faolain

Title: The Thirteenth Pillar
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Genre: {M/M} Paranormal/Mystery
Release Date: November 28th, 2011

The Thirteenth Pillar is the second book in the Section 13 series, which follows the banished sidhe, Cole, as he struggles to adjust to live in Manhattan even after a century of being there. Cole is still dealing with the events and decisions from the first book, The Thirteenth Child. Things have not been going well thus far, but that isn't to say that everything is bad, either. Cole has found solace in the arms of a mortal inspector, and has a new place to live. Section Thirteen, the clandestine division of NYPD that investigates paranormal crimes, however, is swamped with cases and understaffed.

What inspired the story?

I had been writing non-stop for over a year when I was fired from my job at a hospital. It was the lowest I'd felt in my life. Then I saw Dreamspinner Press's submission page calling for stories with unconventional endings, and I went to work at once. The story was finished in roughly a month and a half's time. During that period, I saved every cent I had and prayed for an acceptance. When I realized my story was going out there, and that people would be reading it, it was the most surreal, joyous experience of my life. I was on cloud nine for weeks afterward.

(The looks people gave me when I told them were priceless. All my friends were floored!)

EXCERPT:

Chapter One

COLE suspected every morgue in the world carried a chill to it.

As a sidhe, he wasn’t susceptible to temperatures the way humans were, but the subtle changes in climate were something he remained aware of regardless. It was currently February, and outside in the bleak darkness, New York City was currently facing a maelstrom of winter snow. The heavy clouds churning with white flakes had blanketed half the country, spreading out as far south as Texas and the Gulf Coast.

Cole had walked out in it alongside his partner and superior, Inspector Joss Vallimun, as the two had been called down to the morgue to inspect another body. It hadn’t bothered him to walk outside while the flakes continued to pelt the ground. Joss had been shivering the whole time, but Cole was perfectly comfortable. Then they had entered the hospital morgue, and for the first time that day, Cole had shuddered involuntarily.

His left hand was twitching now. It always responded when there were a number of dead bodies in the area. His Hand of Power, the Hand of Cold Death, could summon anything cold and dead up to obey his every command. It had been called a weak, shameful power in the land of Faerie, but here amongst mortals, where he now worked as a special detective, the Hand had its uses.

The morgue, of course, reeked with the stench of formaldehyde. The smell of it was making Cole’s nose itch as Joss spoke with the coroner. The man didn’t look as though he was particularly happy to see him, and Cole suspected he knew why. They had been to this morgue before and each time had needed a moment to themselves in order to “examine” the body. That was the official story, at least. In reality, Cole didn’t enjoy being gawked at while he questioned the deceased. It made him uncomfortable, a rare thing among his kind. Plus, the screaming and pointing from other humans in the room got old after a while.

Cole waited while Joss sorted things out with the head of the department, making sure all the paperwork had been filed and whatnot so they could carry on with their investigation. Meanwhile, the coroner’s assistant, a young woman with olive skin and dark hair, kept shooting glances his way every few seconds. She had pretended to be busy sorting files, but when several fell out of her hands, the facade was pretty much blown. Cole waited while she picked them up, then caught her attention for a second. As Joss came over to fetch him, Cole gave the woman a wink and smiled as she blushed.

“Having fun?” Joss’s voice carried a thread of jealousy far beneath the mirth on the surface. “We can go inside now. They’ve got the body already laid out for you.”

“Right.” Cole said nothing more, following after Joss as he led them across the room into another area, one filled with drawer after drawer of dead hosts. One was already pulled out and waiting for them. Cole felt his left hand twitch with nerves as they entered, begging for the power inside it to be released.

“Name?” he asked, as the coroner lingered.

“Aaron Hoover,” the coroner replied. “The body was found in an alley. Someone had called their landlord about a bad smell coming through their window.”

The body in question was of a young boy around the age of ten with dark hair and blue eyes, having a light-colored skin. Cole knew this because he’d read the report. Had he not, there would have been no way of figuring that out, going by sight alone. The body had been burned to a crisp. The whole surface was burned from head to toe, except in places where it looked like chunks of flesh had been torn away.

“What about the wounds?” Cole asked, looking the body over. “It looks like they were caused by teeth.”

“Official report says the same thing,” said the coroner. “It looks like the body was burned first and then torn up afterward. There’s also evidence that he was held prisoner in a very cramped space before dying.”

“Just like the other two,” Joss commented, keeping his voice even and neutral.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” the coroner said, walking away now. “Just knock when you’re finished doing… whatever.”

Cole waited until the door shut before speaking. “There may be more,” he reminded Joss. “The first one we spoke to said that he’d been held prisoner in a dark place and that he’d heard other children talking.”

“The report said that the body had been held in a cramped space before dying,” Joss mused quietly to himself. “That corroborates with what the first one said, and the second one talked briefly about being in a cage.”

“The first one said that he’d been held in a cage,” Cole reminded. “The second one mentioned a tiny space before it got really hot.”

“It fits with the killer’s MO.” Joss nodded, keeping his face relaxed. “Good thing you told me to ask the coroner to check and see if the bodies showed signs of being imprisoned before they died.”

“It was just a hunch. Shall we get on with it, then?” Cole stretched his left arm out over the corpse and let the power burst out of his hand. “It was Aaron Hoover, wasn’t it?”

Cole released enough power to summon three or four bodies at once. It was needed, however, to shift the dead body back to something resembling a human form. There was no way the deceased could speak with a body charred so badly. The Hand of Cold Death could temporarily fix a damaged body with no life in it, but this required a little extra effort. Cole took several deep breaths as the form recovered some of its former youthful beauty and blinked up at them.

“Aaron Hoover,” Cole said slowly. “I want you to listen very carefully to me.”

The corpse blinked again. “Where’s my mom?” it croaked. “I want to see my mom.”

“Aaron,” Cole said sharply. “You are already dead.”

Joss gave Cole a look, but Cole ignored him. “You’ve been dead for a few days now,” Cole explained. “I have awakened your body so that we can ask you some questions about how you died. Once we are done here, you will be laid to rest again, and your spirit can finally move on.”

The boy didn’t stop looking terrified by this news, but with each word Cole spoke, the tension in his body seemed to lessen.

“Good,” Cole said, smiling now. “Now, do you remember where it was you were being held prisoner?”

The body of Aaron Hoover tried to swallow and found that it couldn’t. “It was dark,” it whispered hoarsely. “I couldn’t see anything.”

Joss looked across the slab at him. “Just like the others,” he said softly.

“Do you remember who kidnapped you?” Cole asked.

The body shook its head slowly. “I don’t remember being kidnapped. I was walking home from the bus stop. The next thing I knew, someone had put me in a cage, and I could smell something baking in an oven.”

“Baking,” Cole repeated, looking back at Joss. “Didn’t the others mention they smelt something?”

“Maybe,” he said with a nod.

“What did it smell like?” Cole went on. “Was it a bad smell?”

“It smelled good,” the boy who had once been Aaron Hoover replied. “It reminded me of when we used to visit Grandma’s house. It almost smelled like cookies, but better. I could smell it the whole time.”

Cole took a deep breath. “Here we go,” he warned Joss. “Aaron, do you remember how you died?”

The corpse didn’t answer at first. Cole wondered perhaps if it hadn’t heard him when the body suddenly shook. It almost rocked itself off the slab and onto the floor, but Cole forced it still by pushing his will into it through his Hand.

“They came for me,” the body cried out now, panicking. “I could feel them grabbing me with their sticky hands. They were taking me somewhere, and it was small and tight. I couldn’t breathe!”

Aaron Hoover’s corpse gasped, his breath rattling like a clanging bell in his lungs. “It was too small. I couldn’t get out, and it was getting so hot!”

Cole tried to will the body to stay calm, but it was reacting like the others before had. The more Cole tried to force the panic back down, the more it fought.

“It’s not supposed to react like this,” he growled, steadying his power and feeding more of it into the body. “Aaron Hoover, I command you to be at peace!”

The body went still at once, but the corpse began screaming. “I want my momma!” it shouted, the voice echoing off the metal drawers surrounding them. “I want my momma! Momma, help me!”

“Cole, turn it off before the whole department hears him,” Joss ordered.

Cole made a fist, shutting his power down at once. The corpse rattled for a bit as the air was expelled from the lungs, making a loud whistle. Stepping farther back, Cole waited as the deceased form went back to being a lifeless burned shell.

“Just like the others,” he commented. “They all died horribly, and under such traumatic circumstance that raising them for questioning is nearly impossible.”

“Held in a cage,” Joss said, thinking the words over carefully. “Then put inside a cramped space where it got hotter.”

“A furnace,” Cole said, feeling certain of his answer. “Or an old-fashioned stove.”

Joss nodded. “A kiln could have the same effect. I’ve seen some of the bigger ones up close. You could stuff a dead body his size in there no problem. As hot as they get, it’s a wonder there wasn’t just bone left.”

“The sweet smell, though,” Cole pointed out. “They all smelled something, and this one said that it smelled like his grandmother’s house. That’s why I think it was an oven.”

Cole was silent for a moment. “Should I try again and ask if it remembers seeing her?”

Joss shook his head. “We tried that last time and the poor kid kept right on screaming. I don’t think this is her handiwork.”

“Me neither,” Cole admitted, turning away. “But it was worth a shot.”

None of the people in the main area would look at them as they left. Everyone, including the coroner, was entranced by the floor or their own shoes. Cole ignored this and marched out the front door, timing his steps to where they fell in alongside Joss’s.

“I think the sound of dead bodies screaming is beginning to affect them,” he remarked once they were safely outside the hospital.

“You think?” Joss asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“It’s just a theory at this point.”

Both men climbed into Joss’s car and got comfortable. The snow had let up for a few minutes, but Cole could sense it was just a temporary reprieve. Soon, something much bigger would be slamming against the city with full force. It was lucky he had the very best that money couldn’t buy in central heating. Otherwise, he might have wound up freezing his ass off like so many who lived here.

“Come over to my place tonight,” Cole asked as Joss pulled out of the hospital parking lot into traffic. “It’s warm, and you can take a hot shower for as long as you like.”

“Sounds good,” Joss replied. “I could use one after today. They’ve had us running all over this fucking town looking for leads on this killer.”

“While we’re supposed to be out looking for clues to where Naryssa is hiding,” Cole pointed out. “How did this case get dumped into our laps again? Shouldn’t it have been something for homicide to deal with instead?”

“I guess the department thought it was weird enough,” Joss said, shrugging. “I really don’t know, but my guess is they’re swamped too. Budget cuts were not kind to those people.”

“They haven’t exactly been the Spring Faerie Falls for us, either. Speaking of which, has there been any word about getting some more people transferred to our division?”

Cole and Joss both worked in the same department, a clandestine undercover group called Section Thirteen. It had originally been started back in the fifties by a group of mortal cops who specialized in occult crimes and the supernatural. The city had disbanded them sometime during the seventies after too many of their reports read like acid-rock poetry. One month ago, roughly, the city agreed to bring the Section back into business after a mad half-sidhe hag by the name of Naryssa had gone on a murdering spree and kidnapped a number of half-fey children. Cole had gotten dragged into the mix and was now working with the police as an officer of the law to bring her in.

Cole often found himself repeating that statement to himself. Even now, it sounded too weird.

The Section had started off with the two of them and one other homicide cop, a man who had been Cole’s contact when he worked as a police consultant. These days, he and James Corhagen didn’t speak with each other much. It was just as well, especially considering Cole had moved on in his life, away from James and his problems.

Working in the Section had given him a whole new set of problems, and those were more than enough. When Cole had first signed on, Joss had brought in several members of the city’s vice squad to help out. Two weeks later, following an incident in the sewers, where they had been chasing after a large gelatin cube, every member of vice had pleaded with the brass to be taken back to their old assignments.

Dealing with the supernatural underside of New York was not something for the weak of stomach.

So it ended up that the Section was stuck with the three core members and no one else. No one else wanted to come close to them, and no matter how much Cole claimed he didn’t care, they were only three men. The Section had jurisdiction across the whole city, meaning they got called out several times a day to examine a crime scene just to clarify that it had been caused by something mundane and not a rampaging orc.

“I want to take my car home first,” Joss said, breaking up his thoughts. “Since there’s no place to park outside your place.”

“Let me have your cell phone, then,” Cole said, holding his hand out. “I’ll go ahead and call a cab for us so it can be waiting when we arrive.”

Joss fished his phone out of the back pocket of his pants and tossed it to him. “We really need to get you one of those. It’s difficult enough getting hold of you when you’re not on duty.”

“That’s the whole point,” Cole replied, punching in the number. “Hey, Crystal,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, it’s me again. Can you have a cab waiting for us at the usual place? Right, we’re a good fifteen or so minutes away, maybe more now that traffic has picked up again. Just tell your man to park outside the apartment, if you wouldn’t mind. Thanks!”

Joss shook his head. “I think she’s starting to wonder.”

Cole handed the phone back to him and stretched comfortably, gazing out the passenger window. “I love it when it snows here,” he said softly. “It reminds me of home.”

“I hate it,” Joss grumbled. “Give me spring any day. Before long, summer will be here and it’ll be too hot to breathe.”

Cole kept his thoughts to himself and allowed Joss the silence he needed to make it home quickly and efficiently. Soon, they were pulling up into the driveway of the inspector’s apartment, a shabby but neat building that Cole had been a guest at several times since he had joined the police force. The cab he had called for was waiting for them with the motor, and probably the meter, running. Joss parked his car; then they both rushed out to jump in the back of the waiting vehicle. The driver didn’t so much as comment, pulling out into the street without a backward glance at them.

They reached Bowling Green Park a little bit later. Cole already had his money out and passed it up to the driver before hopping out.

“Keep the change,” he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

“I’m surprised you can afford to keep doing this,” Joss remarked as they wandered through the entrance together.

“I just have to pay for food,” Cole reminded him. “The sithen provides me with everything else.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Cole laughed as they came up to the fountain. The jets had been turned off due to the weather, yet the water inside the basin had yet to freeze. People surely found this strange but were too busy with their own lives to investigate the cause. Cole snapped his fingers, then waited as the entrance to the world below rose up in front of them. As the doorway formed from the water’s surface, Cole brought his arms around the inspector’s waist and squeezed.

“Whenever you are ready,” he whispered into the mortal’s ear.

The first time they had gone through this door together, there had been an uneven flight of stairs leading down into a dark corridor. The sithen had been under Naryssa’s control back then, but after Cole had defeated her with Joss’s help, he’d taken up living in it. Naryssa had escaped, and now her home was his to do with as he pleased. Cole had gotten rid of those blasted steps first.

There was only a step or two down now. Joss went through first and removed his shoes at the landing. Cole came in next and waited as the door slid shut, sealing them off from the mortal world.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Joss replied nonchalantly. “No strange visions or unusual colors. I had worse side effects from walking into my roommate’s dorm in college.”

“I simply wanted to be sure.” Cole had brought Joss here several times already, and each time, they’d stopped before going too far in to check and make sure the sithen wasn’t playing tricks with Joss’s mind. Legends spoke of the Faerie mounds giving mortals the odd turn now and again.

The ceiling was high, held in place ostensibly by a long row of columns that had tree roots wrapped around them. Halfway down the stone path was a stone fountain, the water of which splashed merrily, welcoming them home. Cole could hear laughter coming from it and waved at the pixies playing there as he walked past. They had once lived in a storm drain in Central Park, but after he had moved into the sithen, Cole had invited them along.

Above the fountain were two ghostly figures. The bean sidhe who guarded the entrance had taken to avoiding their posts whenever Cole brought Joss home. Cole suspected they were jealous and knew what he would do to them if they tried anything on Joss.

Smart ladies.

“Welcome home, Master Colewyn,” a voice said.

Cole looked to the source as a short man with a balding head materialized. “That way,” Mal, the ghost and operator of the sithen, said, gesturing. “Right through the door. I’ve already gotten your bed ready, and the bathroom water is nice and hot.”

“Thanks, Mal,” Joss said as they entered the double doors he’d been pointing to. “He’s really taken to this whole ‘butler’ role, hasn’t he?”

“I think he finds the role amusing,” Cole replied. The sithen had already changed itself around, as per Mal’s instructions, to take them directly to Cole’s private chamber. It was just down the smaller hallway now and to the left.

“That makes me worry,” said Joss in a grave voice as they entered the expansive room. “If what you told me is true, why would the ghost of a former sorcerer condemned for practicing black magic find being a butler amusing?”

“He was trapped in a book for centuries,” Cole pointed out, directing them both to the bathroom. “Mal is probably relieved to be out and doing anything now.”

“Good point.”

The sithen, with Mal’s help, had constructed a spacious room for Cole that was decorated in brown paneling with cobblestone floors covered by thick rugs. The bed was by far the largest piece of furniture in the room, but the cabinets, shelves, and desk were all massive and varnished a deep brown color to match the walls. It was the sort of room he’d always dreamed of having.

Off to the side was the bathroom. Cole entered first and began shucking his clothes as Joss came up behind him and did the same. As usual, Cole had worn all black while on patrol. His leather pants and long vest were far from regulation, but since Joss had insisted that Section Thirteen be a plainclothes operation, there was very little the higher-ups could do. Plus, as Cole himself had pointed out, a uniform would do very little to help him blend in.

Joss, unlike him, had dressed for freezing weather. His knee-length coat was the first thing to go, followed by the cream-colored button-down shirt. Cole was already naked now and stood there enjoying the view. Joss took a moment to slowly draw the undershirt over his head, knowing how much Cole liked to watch. His abs and chest came into view, covered in a natural rug of curly hair. Cole sighed, feeling a low moan rising up from his throat. He loved running his fingers through that carpet and did so at every chance. When Joss dropped his pants, the underwear came with them, and his shaft stood upright and rigid.

It was as big as a baby’s arm.

The head was leaking precum now, causing Cole’s mouth to water. Once Joss had stepped out of his clothes, Cole wasted no time in dragging both of them into the shower. The water kicked on immediately, and true to Mal’s word, it was at just the right temperature. Joss groaned as the three showerheads above them sent jets of steaming liquid onto his back, pounding the stress of the day out of him. Each head was shaped like a theater mask: one frowning, one grinning, and one trapped in between.

Cole seized Joss by his thick mane of wet blond hair and pulled him in close for a kiss that ended with their tongues dancing around one another. His own cock was stretched as far as it would go, almost to the point of pain, as their arms encircled each other. Cole could feel Joss’s hands all over him, and he moaned his pleasure down the mortal man’s throat.

Cole began kneading the knots out of Joss’s back as he nuzzled the man’s ear. “That feels so good,” Joss breathed, kissing Cole lightly on his shoulder. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Never,” Cole cooed. “Let go. I’ve got both of us now.”

Joss went silent for a moment as Cole continued to massage his back in time with the water. “That boy,” said Joss softly as Cole worked lower. “He couldn’t have been, what? Ten years old? Somebody baked him alive.”

“We’ll find them,” Cole assured him, not letting up. “And when we find them, we put a stop to it.”

“You make it sound simple,” Joss groaned, running his own hands up the slicked surface of Cole’s back. “It’s never that simple. Being a cop is anything but simple.”

“I’m not really a cop,” Cole reminded him. Seizing the man by the hair, he gently pulled until Joss’s eyes were facing his. “I am a sidhe warrior. You brought me into the NYPD, but at heart, I will always be who I was raised to be. No amount of paperwork or procedure will change that.”

“I shouldn’t let you say things like that,” Joss mumbled. Their foreheads pressed together under the jet stream. “We’re supposed to catch the bad guys, not execute them. But after what I heard those kids say….”

“One thing at a time,” Cole said, shushing him. “For now….”

Joss looked at Cole when he didn’t finish.

“I’m going to fuck you silly,” Cole whispered into his ear before spinning Joss around.

Joss brought his arms up to brace himself against the slippery wall of the shower as Cole reached his hand out. The sithen was always quick to respond, and this time was no exception. Before Cole’s hand could touch the wall to the right of Joss, it opened up a hidden compartment to reveal a small bottle of golden liquid.

“Last time, it was under the frowning shower head,” Cole noted, pouring some of the fey lubricant onto his fingers.

Joss merely grunted and steeled himself as two of Cole’s fingers were inserted into his ass. Cole quickly flexed and wiggled the tips as he felt them brush across Joss’s love nut. Joss’s cock jumped at the stimulation and began drooling. The rough and rugged male grunted as another finger joined the others. His asshole was opened slightly, but it was still tight and snug as Cole began to gently fuck his digits back and forth.

At the same time, he managed to dribble a little bit of the oil onto his other hand by tilting it slightly. It wasn’t easy, and he wound up with more than was needed, but the glass bottle didn’t slip out of his fingers once. Cole placed it back into the slot in the wall, snapped the cap back into place, and watched as it disappeared once more. Satisfied, he used the oil smeared all over his left hand to slick his cock up as Joss began moaning with pleasure.

“Here it comes,” he warned, pushing the head of his dick up against Joss’s entrance.

“Umph!” Joss grunted as the head popped past his sphincter. “Ohhh, yeah!”

“Get ready.” Cole braced himself, getting a nice grip on Joss’s hips as he drew back slightly, then drove himself forward hard. The head of his cock plowed into Joss’s innards, tearing a path that made the rough-and-tumble man moan.

“Fuck, yeah,” Joss breathed as the steam built up around them. “Fuck me, lover.”

“You want that?” Cole began to pick up speed as he slapped his hand across Joss’s ass cheek. “Your ass is as tight as I’ve had in a long time. It’s hotter inside of you than in this shower. I’m going to enjoy fucking the shit out of you.”

“Just shut up and fuck me!” Joss replied.

Cole was a sidhe warrior, and despite his svelte frame, he had the strength of ten muscled men on crack. It was very important for him not to forget how delicate Joss was by comparison. The mortal would not have liked hearing that, but of the two of them, Cole was actually the more durable. Yet the two had been on the move for days, tracking a killer who seemed even more elusive than the one they’d come up against a month ago. In that time, they’d barely had the chance to share a private conversation that didn’t involve the more unpleasant aspects of their work. As such, Cole found himself throwing aside some of his restrictions now. As Joss’s moans filled the steamy air surrounding them, Cole’s hips picked up speed, and he began to really pound into his man.

Joss tossed his head back and howled as his canal was savaged. Water from the showerhead splashed down into his face and mouth. Even then, he didn’t stop yelling for Cole to fuck him harder.

Cole was happy to oblige. As he kicked it into high gear, Cole felt his balls begin to draw up. Cum churned inside them, ready to unload down the dark tunnel of Joss’s ass any second. Joss’s own balls were already swollen and ready to burst. Cole grunted right along in time with his lover and steeled himself. Both of his arms snaked around Joss just below his hairy chest. As Cole was getting ready to bust, a voice rang out in his ears.

“Tuulois MacColewyn!”

“Shit!”

Cole gasped and leaped backward, drawing his dick out of Joss’s asshole as the air around them swam unexpectedly. Joss glanced back in confusion, still pulling at his dick as Cole leaped out of the shower in a panic.

“What happened?” he moaned. “Why did you stop?”

“Tuulois MacColewyn!”

“Never mind that! Turn the water off and get your clothes!”

The sithen was already two steps ahead of him. The shower heads shut off immediately, and Cole suddenly found their clothes much closer than where they’d left them. Amidst the pile were their weapons, which to him was much more important. Cole could already feel the spell beginning to take hold of him.

“Hold on,” he ordered, snatching their things up off the floor and jumping back in with Joss. Joss, however, had gotten the wrong idea and seized his cock, jerking it back and forth.

“I didn’t mean that!”

“Tuulois MacColewyn!”

Cole turned sideways next to Joss and felt his cock jerk hard as his balls were drained of their essence. Joss’s own cock was already exploding in the same direction. Something was pulling both men upward through what felt like a wet rubber tube as they shot their loads into clear space. A sense of displacement followed, and Detective Corhagen was abruptly standing in front of them with two separate loads dripping down his face.

Joss still had a few good shots left in him, it turned out. A whole rope of cum landed on Corhagen’s long coat, and another from Cole splattered across his tie. Corhagen’s eyes went wide from shock to disbelief as he took in the sight of both Cole and Inspector Vallimun standing together naked inside the summoning circle he’d drawn.

“Well,” said Cole, dripping wet. “This is a new twist.”

Where can we find your website?

Sadly, I do not have a working website as of this time. I am available on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/user/LongHairedCreepyGuy?feature=mhee and on a website called ThatGuyWithTheGlasses.com, here: http://thatguywiththeglasses.com/community/profile

I review bad TV shows and telefilms, as well as showcase little-known gems that receive little recognition. My hope is that I'll be signed on there as an official reviewer someday.

Blacker than Black by Rhi Etzweiler

2011-12-30T17:59:00.000-06:00

Rhianon Etzweiler Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I am of the firm belief that all things are open to debate and subject to interpretation. This includes any number of parameters that one might, in life, take for granted. Very little is sacred when I write a story. I have a fetish for toying with preconceived notions.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Mystique, from the X-Men.

What is your favorite genre to read?

Love is genderless, quality writing is genreless. I love a good book, no matter the genre.

Do you have a favorite quote?

“Do, or do not. There is no try.” No idea where it comes from originally. It’s popular in the military, though.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I’ve two different military speculative fiction books in the works. One’s science fiction, the other more fantasy. I’m also working on the sequel to “Dark Edge of Honor.”

Here the blurb from my new Riptide release, Blacker than Black:

Apparently, my twin and I are two of York’s most notorious criminals. We’ve been Nightwalkers in the blue-light district since the vamps took over the world. Don’t know how many years it’s been. Long enough that a stream of fellow ’walkers have come and gone. Most don’t last long selling their chi. End up face-down in the gutter, or worse.

For us, one night and one sale change everything.
Monsieur Garthelle is the first john to hunt me down. He calls me a chi thief in one breath and offers absolution—servitude—in the next. Maybe I’m a sucker, but I like living and breathing. Strange that such a powerful vamp would show leniency to a mere human. And something’s not right with the chi I took from him. It won’t go away.

Neither will he, and he’s forcing us to spy on his peers. Then a vamp turns up dead, and we go from playing eyes and ears to investigating a murder. This isn’t what I signed up for. All I ever wanted was to sell a little chi, maybe steal some in return. I should’ve kept my damn hands to myself.

This is my story. Look through my eyes.

You can read an excerpt and purchase Blacker than Black here.

Where can we find your website?

http://www.rhianonetzweiler.com

Master Class (Master Class, #1) by Rachel Haimowitz

2011-12-24T08:23:00.000-06:00

Rachel Haimowitz Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

If you’re looking for soft and fuzzy, or happy and porny, I’m not your gal, but if you’re looking for a tense, meaty read (er, no double entendre intended) with strong characters and plot and the occasional scorching sex scene, I think you’ll enjoy what I do. I can be dark for certain, but that’s just me making my characters earn their happy ending J

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Hmm. In the Song of the Fallen series, I’d definitely be an elf. Not a city elf either, but one like Ayden, out in the wilds. I’d like to think I’d be happier than Ayden, though. And I wouldn’t be a soldier. I suppose I’d probably be a writer there, too.

What is your favorite genre to read?

I’m not sure I have one, to be honest. I tend to prefer fiction over nonfiction, but even that’s not hard and fast. I read a lot, across many genres, and haven’t ever really settled on just one. I obviously have a particular affinity for M/M, and for all the various genres that fall under the speculative fiction umbrella, and I seem to be a character-driven rather than a plot-driven reader (and writer, as well).

Do you have a favorite quote?

Two, actually. The first is “So it goes,” from Kurt Vonnegut in Slaughterhouse Five. The second is “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by,” by Douglas Adams (another favorite writer of mine). That’s terrible of me, I know, especially in a business that’s so deadline-focused, but I love the humor and very much understand where he was coming from when he said that.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I have three new releases this winter. My most recent was Master Class, a smoking-hot (and hardcore!) BDSM novella focused on the psychology of sadomasochism. In other words, both the healthy and the unhealthy reasons for why some people pursue these relationships, and how truly amazing—transcendent, even—they can be when you find the right fit. That came out with Riptide Publishing on October 30.

Here's the blurb:

Performing before a crowd of thousands? No problem. Baring his heart before a crowd of one? Better tie him down first.

Broadway darling Nicky Avery is a shooting star by night, but by day he bounces from one heartless one-night stand to the next. A quick flogging, a rough lay, a new whip-hand to manipulate—yet still he yearns for something he cannot even name.

He finds his first true hint of satisfaction in Devon Turner, a self-possessed film star and expert Dom. Devon knows what he wants the moment he sees it, and what he wants is Nicky Avery. Nicky’s never learned to trust and has a nasty habit of topping from the bottom, but he learns fast that in the bedroom, Devon won’t tolerate his actor’s masks.

Nicky's a broken boy, but Devon knows exactly how to put his new sub back together. With patience, care, and all the punishments his little pain slut can handle, Devon breaks Nicky down one scene at a time, revealing a mind that yearns to trust and a heart that hungers for the ecstasy of true submission at last.

This title is #1 of the Master Class series.

You can read an excerpt and purchase Master Class at Riptide Publishing.

SUBlime, Collected Shorts features Nicky and Devon as well.

Broadway darling Nicky Avery gives commanding performances on stage, but when he comes home at night, it's Devon Turner who commands him. Devon—that's "Sir" to Nicky, of course—owns Nicky heart and soul, and neither of them could possibly be happier with that.

This collection of vignettes explores the gifts of submission and domination—Nicky and Devon's ultimate expression of love and trust. The ten short stories range from sweet and sensual to hot and hardcore, from crossdressing to knife play, and so much more.

Dom or sub, curious beginner or 24/7 lifestyler, the stories in Sublime will tease and tantalize, arouse and thrill. And don't mind Devon and Nicky . . . they like to be watched anyway.

(Stories include "All-Nighter," "Down in the Woodshop," "Stainless Steel," "Pretty," "Milk Run," "Too Much," "A Hairy Situation," "Wrapped Up," "One for the Road," and "Pony Up.")

Note: This second edition is a revised re-release of the same title first published in 2010.

The second is Crescendo, Book II of Song of the Fallen. That’s the sequel and conclusion to Counterpoint, and together they make a high fantasy story arc nearly a quarter of a million words long that follows three races at war and two enemies whose love may just be strong enough to bring peace back to the world at last. It’ll be out November 18 at Storm Moon Press.

The third is Break and Enter, an action-packed cyberpunk romp co-written with Aleksandr Voinov and releasing December 20 with Samhain Publishing. I really love this story, mostly for everything it’s not. It has no literary pretensions, no aspirations for high art, no desire to be anything but what it is . . . which is the book equivalent of 90 minutes of high-tension, big-budget car chases and explosions and hot guys running around beating each other up, bringing justice to their little corner of the world, and falling in love along the way. Also there’s a cyborg with a pottymouth.

Where can we find your website?

Website: http://rachelhaimowitz.com

Blog: http://Rachel-haimowitz.blogspot.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/RachelHaimowitz

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4110966

Email: metarachel (at) gmail (dot) com

First Watch by Peter Hansen

2011-12-16T19:45:00.000-06:00

Peter Hansen Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

If you haven't read my work yet, you should know that I write erotic fiction that's heavily inflected with science fiction and horror. My short stories tend to take place on other worlds or other versions of our world, and they focus on the connections people make when their lives or livelihoods are under threat. I go for Good Soldiers and Angry Young Men, and I'm a huge fan of the idealist/cynic matchup. As for me, I'm an incurable idealist, a Scorpio, and a vegetarian.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Probably a Time Lord. Can you imagine how much easier research would be if I just had to hop in the TARDIS?

What is your favorite genre to read?

Fantasy and science fiction, no question. I like learning about new worlds, and I like encountering cultures that operate on very different sets of rules than our own. When they're done right, fantasy and science fiction both teach us not to exoticize the Other, but to accept ourselves as Other to a functioning cultural system of cooperation and conflict. (When they're done wrong, of course, they only replicate and amplify the worst tropes of colonial apologist literature.)

Do you have a favorite quote?

"I will not stir from this place, do what they can; I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear. I am not afraid." – Bottom, Midsummer Night's Dream

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

Right now, I'm concentrating on writing a pair of sequels to "First Watch," my post-WWI tale of erotic Lovecraftian horror. Once I've finished that, though, I'd like to branch out a little and write something closer to contemporary fiction. Near-future SF or historical fiction set in the eighties—something a little closer to my time and that of my readers.

Allow me to share the blurb for my Riptide release, First Watch:

What price would you pay to survive?

Do you want to live? In the darkness of a WWI battlefield, young Legionnaire Edouard Montreuil lies dying. As teeth nibble his flesh, a voice whispers, Do you want to live? Frightened and desperate, Edouard bargains his freedom for a second chance.

Aboard the Flèche, a grim submarine captained by the nightmare who granted Edouard new life, Edouard pays the price for his survival. Each night, he gives his body to his captain as the bells sound first watch. But surviving is not living, and as the days stretch into months beneath the waves, Edouard grows desperate for escape.

Can Edouard’s old comrade Farid Ruiz help him break this devil's bargain, or will Ruiz fall to the same fate, trapped beneath the waves at the mercy of a monster whose hunger knows no bounds? Edouard and Ruiz served together once before, and slept together too, but courage and passion failed to save them from the eldritch beasts who roamed the night. This time, the cost of failure is nothing so clean or simple as death, and the spoils of victory are not just life, but love.

You can read an excerpt and purchase First Watch here

Where can we find your website?

Website
Twitter:

E-mail: peter.hansen.writes@gmail.com

Pretty Monsters by Andrea Speed

2011-12-10T09:41:00.000-06:00

Andrea Speed Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I like to think I'm funny. Your mileage may vary.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

The mad god who rules with a capricious iron fist.

What is your favorite genre to read?

Don't really have one. I'll read anything that appeals to me.

Do you have a favorite quote?

Two, from two of my favorite writers. “In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move.” - Douglas Adams (Not only is The Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy a very funny book, but full of quotable lines.) And “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.” - Hunter S. Thompson.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

In October, through Dreamspinner Press, I have a novella coming out called The Little Death. It's a Chandler homage, about alcoholic tough guy private dick Jake Falconer, and how the search for a homme fatale's sexy missing brother gets him in deep trouble. I also have a fantasy novel called Strange Angels in the works for Riptide Publishing, and there will be a fourth book in the Infected series too, Infected: Freefall, although release date is TBA. (Probably around the end of the year, though.)

Here’s the blurb from my latest release, Pretty Monsters, at Riptide Publishing:

Josh knew the night shift at the Quik-Mart would be full of freaks and geeks—and that was before the hell portal opened in the parking lot. Still, he likes to think he can roll with things. Sure, the zombies make a mess sometimes, but at least they never reach for anything more threatening than frozen burritos.

Besides, it’s not all lizard-monsters and the walking dead. There’s also the mysterious hottie with the sly red lips and a taste for sweets.

Josh has had the hots for Hot Guy since the moment he laid eyes on him, and it seems Hot Guy might be sweet on Josh too. Now if only Josh could figure out whether that’s a good thing, a bad thing, or something in between. After all, with a hell vortex just a stone’s throw away, Josh has learned to take nothing at face value—even if it’s a very, very pretty face.

This title is #1 of the Josh of the Damned series.

You can read an excerpt and purchase Pretty Monsters here.

The second in the series, Peek-A-Boo is available for presale at Riptide.

Where can we find your website?

www.andreaspeed.com

But also feel free to hit me up on Twitter, as I am often there.

http://twitter.com/#!/aspeed

Surprises (Romeo Club, #1) by Brita Addams

2011-12-02T20:21:00.002-06:00

Brita Addams - Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

Brita: I'd love for new people to know that I write what's in my heart and stories I hope people can relate to. I write my characters with emotions I've felt, feelings that I think are universal. First and foremost, I write people, no matter what gender they might be. In doing that, I can relate to either a female or male character and have them relate to each other in a realistic way.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

No! I'm a very grounded person and I enjoy a wonderful life that I wouldn't change for anything in the world.

What is your favorite genre to read?

Brita: I currently only read gay fiction, usually historical, though I have read some really good contemporary stories. Historical is my first choice, both in reading and writing and then I can't get enough stories about men loving each other.

Do you have a favorite quote?

Brita: "I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep." from Robert Frost's Stopping By a Woods on a Snowy Evening.

It's a great metaphor for life.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

Brita: I have a whole collection of gay erotica I'm writing for Riptide called Romeo Club. They are all contemporary stories, shorts or vignettes, nice lunch or bedtime reading.

I'm working on an historical, which takes place in the early 1800's and I hope to have that submitted by the New Year. Next year, I hope to write a new series that had to be delayed this year due to other commitments. It niggles at my brain and the characters are begging to be written, so that will be a priority as the new year comes upon us. I’m also researching old Hollywood and I have a ton of research done for an American Civil War story I’d like to write.

Here’s the blurb from Romeo Club #1: Surprises:

Are you willing to put yourself in our hands?

Smart, successful, handsome, and thoroughly sick of the club scene, Don ventures into a popular upscale dating service. Aroused and intrigued by the boldfaced sexual queries on the Romeo Club’s application, he finds himself embellishing one answer after the next. Don thinks he’s taking control of his fate, but when he’s done, he ends up turning over a lot more than just his questionnaire to the dominant Adonis who runs the service.

In a private back room, beneath the snick of handcuffs, the slide of silk over his eyes, and not one hot mouth but two upon his skin, Don learns just how much more than matchmaking the Romeo Club has to offer a guy who doesn’t mind a few surprises.

To read an excerpt and purchase the first in the Romeo Club collection, click here.

Romeo Club #2: Rubbed the Right Way is also available at Riptide Publishing.

Where can we find you?

Website/blog

Twitter

Facebook

Divinity by Bryl R. Tyne

2011-11-25T21:07:00.000-06:00

Bryl Tyne Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I'm not really as scary as I come across at times, i.e. see answer to what my fantasy character would be had I a choice.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

I would be called Beau, and I'd have money, power, and the deadliest weapons available at my disposal, and I'd defy anyone to knock the chip off my shoulder. Yeah.

What is your favorite genre to read?

Suspense or Action Adventure

Do you have a favorite quote?

To label me is to negate me ~ Soren Kierkegaard

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I'm currently working on a psychological horror collection for Riptide called ANGUISH. The first story is DEVOUR, and there are two others planned.

Here's the blurb from my newest release at Riptide, called Divinity:

Martin Hayes has found the perfect job for a 200-year-old vampire. As the late-shift security guard for Spire, he works and hunts by night and sleeps by day, hidden away in the unused cellar. Life is all so easy—nights bleeding away, weeks and months passing . . . until a new janitor disturbs the peace. Martin finds himself obsessed with memories (or are they?) of red hair, freckled skin, and men on their knees.

Dylan Mesmer isn’t just a hot, freckled, red-haired janitor. He’s altogether too composed around Martin and never surprised by Martin’s supernatural abilities. In fact, he seems to have a few of his own. And why does he keep feeding Martin orange lollipops?

A healthy vampire has no use for candy, yet Martin cannot resist the lure. He’s being baited and knows it, but for what end? And what about those visions that assail him whenever he thinks of Dylan? Their story is centuries old, but this time around, Dylan’s playing for nothing less than immortality. Eternal life—and eternal love—is within his reach, but can he convince Martin to change his ways and commit? If not, he’ll remain trapped in time beside his lover, always together but forever apart.

Divinity can be purchased at Riptide: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/divinity

Where can we find your website?

Website URL: http://bryltyne.com

Blog URL: http://brylrtyne.blogspot.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/bryl

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/bryl.tyne

MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/brylrtyne

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Bryl-R.-Tyne/e/B0034GBTZC

Goodreads Page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2877215.Bryl_R_Tyne

My Way column at The Pagan and The Pen:

http://thepaganandthepen.wordpress.com/my-way/

Grown Men by Damon Suede

2011-11-18T20:07:00.000-06:00

Damon Suede Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I write the stories I love to read. Full stop. J My entire interest as a writer centers on my love of singular worldbuilding and rich characterization. I write entertaining stories that bear rereading because I’m drawn to complex characters and unexpected situations. I push myself hard, and each project represents a step forward,

I’m not interested in “throwaway” fiction or quickie retreads of overly familiar material. I don’t focus on any particular genre or style. I understand why those books satisfy, but I like meat on the figurative bone and I always want to be able to go back to a book I’ve enjoyed.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Myself. Seriously. I’m living the life I’ve always wanted. I wouldn’t trade places with anyone and I feel way too fortunate to ever toss that aside. My mom raised us to take aim and live out loud and we do. J I suppose in the most primitive sense I’d love to live forever, free of infirmity, as myself… but I love my life and am grateful beyond reason for all the people and powers that let me live it.

What is your favorite genre to read?

I don’t have a particular favorite genre, although I do go through phases where I’ll read a specific genre because of my mood or interests at that moment. The one thing I’m always in the mood for is a strong voice from someone with a story to tell, but I don’t think good writing qualifies as a genre. J

Do you have a favorite quote?

“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” (Aristotle)

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

Books that push the boundaries in ways that honor the form without getting formulaic. Better writing as I learn more about the flow and form of romance fiction. I want to see our genre expand and evolve and play a part in that. But that’s all very high-falutin’ and general.

In concrete terms, what y’all should expect is more projects and writing that gets better each time out of the gate. Up next is Spring Eternal, which is my steampunk novel. After that will be Hard Head, the sequel to Hot Head which focuses on Tommy’s story. And I have another contemporary brewing now that will follow along soon.

Here's the blurb from Grown Men, my newest release from Riptide Publishing:

Every future has dirty roots.

Marooned in the galactic backwaters of the HardCell company, colonist Runt struggles to eke out an existence on a newly-terraformed tropical planetoid. Since his clone-wife died on entry, he’s been doing the work of two on his failing protein farm. Overworked and undersized, Runt’s dwindling hope of earning corporate citizenship has turned to fear of violent “retirement.”

When an overdue crate of provisions crashes on his beach, Runt searches frantically for a replacement wife among the tools and food. Instead he gets Ox, a mute hulk who seems more like a corporate assassin than a simple offworld farmer.

Shackwacky and near-starving, Runt has no choice but to work with his silent partner despite his mounting paranoia and the unsettling appeal of Ox’s genetically altered pheromones. Ox plays the part of the gentle giant well, but Runt’s still not convinced he hasn’t arrived with murder in mind.

Between brutal desire and the seeds of a relationship, Runt’s fears and Ox’s inhuman past collide on a fertile world where hope and love just might have room to grow.

This title is #1 of the HardCell series.

Grown Men can be purchased at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/grown-men

Where can we find your website?

You can find me online at:

§ DamonSuede.com

§ Goodreads

§ Facebook

§ FB Fanpage

§ Google+

Collared by Kari Gregg

2011-11-11T19:11:00.001-06:00

Kari Gregg - Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I like pushing boundaries, exploring new territory, thinking outside the box and tackling an old trope in an entirely different way. For instance, with I, Omega (released Sept 6th, Loose Id), I wanted to bring the animal nature of shifters back to the table and just wallow in it.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

A creature I made up but sadly, have not yet had the time to write yet so, lol, sorry, can't say a lot, but I will tell you that these creatures are empowered by and can manipulate light -- or rather the lack of it. Very magic-y. Very sexy.

What is your favorite genre to read?

M/M, first and foremost...I read A LOT of BDSM and kink. Nothing I like better than an intelligent dub-con/capture fantasy.

Do you have a favorite quote?

Peace, love...smut! (The Goodreads Kindle Smut Group)

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I, Omega, my m/m BDSM paranormal (shifter) novel released with Loose Id in September. Collared, my M/M D/s Dystopian AU novella, released with Riptide in November. Next up is In the Red, a M/M BDSM mystery with Loose Id, featuring a slightly forensic accountant and the special agent tasked with returning him to the Bureau fold. After that, I'll be working on two books in tandem, Plunder (the sequel to Spoils of War) as well as a M/M BDSM short novel set during the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse.

Here's a blurb from Collared, my November 28 release from Riptide Publishing:

Trans-Global IT director Connor Witt is a rare and prized anomaly: the aggression centers in his brain have been suppressed rather than stimulated by the mutated crops that so recently took over the world’s food supply. Bewildered by his physical changes and terrified of a world growing more and more predatory, Connor risks harassment and worse until Trans-Global CEO David Martin collars Connor to protect him against men like security consultant Emmett Drake. Men who stalk Connor as sweet, sexy prey. Men to whom the newly submissive Connor feels irresistibly drawn.

But David can’t be Connor’s master; David’s straight. He promises to find a worthy man, though. One willing to court and appreciate Connor as more than just some rich man’s toy.

While the world adapts to the biological disaster and new laws strip away Connor’s rights, David’s resolve to protect his boy slowly grows into something more. But can his new desires keep pace with Emmett’s determination to claim Connor?

One man offers safety; the other is a safer bet. Problem is, Connor’s never sure which is which. The one thing he does know? He wants them both.

You can pre-order Collared by clicking this link: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/collared

Where can we find your website?

If you would like to catch up with Kari, caffeinate yourself and head on over to http://www.KariGregg.com
Friend Kari on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Kari.M.Gregg
Follow Kari on Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/karigregg
Find Kari at Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4366316.Kari_Gregg

Dark Soul (Vol 1) by Aleksandr Voinov

2011-11-04T21:41:00.000-05:00

Aleksandr Voinov Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I write m/m fiction – from historical to science fiction, I got most genres covered. I’m probably one of the grittier, sexier, plottier writers out there, too, so if that rocks your boat, check out my free stories.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Independently wealthy might be nice. The great thing about being a writer is - in my books I can be whatever I want, at least while I write the book, so I’ve tried out a lot of different things so far, soldiers, warriors, spies, warlords. In the end, I’m quite happy to be me, because being a spy or warrior is dangerous and pretty hard on the nerves.

What is your favorite genre to read?

That changes by mood, but I like thrillers and historical right now. That said, I do want to start a re-read of Dune and some of my science-fiction favorites. So, no, not really, it’s totally a mood thing and depends also on what I’m currently writing myself. I do read a lot of m/m fiction, because there are so many sub-genres. If I feel like a crime story, I can find one there.

Do you have a favorite quote?

“War is the father of all things” – Heraclitus. What he means is that it’s the interaction of opposites creates the universe. It also creates plot and tension, so a useful thing for writers to remember. It doesn’t have to be a “war”, it can be as little as an opposing force, an enemy, a difficulty or an obstacle.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

Hopefully a lot more books! I’m working on the final parts of Dark Soul, my little series with Riptide Publishing, and then I’ll co-write the historical novel Lion’s Share with Kate Cotoner.

Here's an excerpt from Dark Soul Volume 1:

The most annoying thing about all this was nobody knew when the old badger was going to kick the bucket. But to make the wait comfortable, at least, Stefano had secured a nice leather chair near the fireplace, Vince covering his flank.

He didn’t expect hostility. If he had, he wouldn’t have shown up; he wasn’t that brave. But he still liked having Vince at his side. This way he had at least one ally in the room. The others were fleeting alliances or all-out rivals for the business soon to be up for grabs.

Luigi Ferretti, the old badger’s right-hand man, stepped into the room and walked toward Rossi, an east coast boss. They exchanged a few whispered words, then Rossi put his wine glass down, straightened his suit like a boy being called to the principal’s office, and followed the consigliere.

Stefano was too low on the food chain to receive the call so soon. First the dying man’s old comrades, then the young Turks. No doubt the big pieces of the old man’s empire would be taken by the time his turn came. But even if there were only scraps left, he couldn’t afford not to be here. He had to circle with the other sharks.

His cell phone buzzed. Just short; a text message. He fished it from his pocket and cast a glance at the screen.

Having a great time, but the hotel bed is so empty without you.

He smiled at the thought of Donata in that Parisian five-star hotel, wearing a silken negligee—maybe the one as red as spilled blood—her small breasts and hard nipples pushing against the barely-there fabric. He was damn lucky to have married her rather than taken her as a mistress, even if he did tend to send her away on shopping trips to London, Paris, or New York when he had to get this involved with the family business. Even if, as she put it, she only bought the clothes so she could take them off for him.

His neck was cramping up, so he stood, stretched out, and then headed for the open balcony doors and the salty breeze. In a corner, two men were talking in murmurs, denying him solitude, so he headed down the broad stairs toward the front of the mansion.

The white gravel driveway was lit all the way from the road. Above the rhythmic swell of the ocean sounding from beyond the house, Stefano heard the revving of a powerful, aggressive engine.
A motorcycle, all sharp edges, painted black with white highlights. It zipped along the winding driveway as if it had a race to win, swerving dangerously and then stopping with a dramatic turn, spraying gravel everywhere.
Including across Stefano’s polished leather shoes.
The driver was hunched over the handlebars, wearing a matching full-body leather suit with Kevlar plates.

Like some modernist centaur on wheels.

The driver stepped off, displaying long, long graceful legs and a tiny ass clad in leather. Woman? Lean and angular, but feminine, even when kicking the stand underneath the bike. The helmet came off after a somewhat awkward release. Short, spiky hair beneath. Not a woman—and that jolted through Stefano just as hard as the driver’s cold, motionless, focused expression. In that pale face lurked the blackest, darkest eyes Stefano had ever seen, and lips like they’d been cut with knife blades, perfect, sharp, and deadly.

The driver cast him an annoyed glance—At his proximity? His staring?—but then paused and regarded him longer. No smile, no recognition. Eventually, he turned to hang the helmet from the handlebar.
Stefano backed away, but watched the man unstrap saddlebags just large enough for a proper suit and toiletries.
The driver glanced at him again. “Old guy’s not dead yet?” he asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Bene.” The driver shrugged. “I’ll go have a shower now. Wanna come?”

What. The. Fuck. He forced himself not to recoil. Think, Stefano. Think. If he’s family. Son? Cousin? Grandson? He couldn’t afford to make enemies here, even if those words—that invitation—could get men killed.

Wanna come? The way he’d said it could have meant anything.

Stefano decided on a sneer. “That would hardly be appropriate.”

The driver shrugged and sauntered past him toward the house. The guards near the door stopped him, but when he produced a piece of paper from inside his leather suit, they let him pass. They even looked a little impressed. Or was it bewildered?

Stefano followed back into the house—not following the driver, though, of course not—and watched him climb the big central staircase inside.

The leather played off his body in interesting ways. He tried to ignore the other details—taut piece of ass, broad shoulders, the V-shape of the back at odds with the first impression of femininity when he’d straightened up from the bike.

Not that women had any reason to be here. At least not attractive single women. Stefano shook his head and turned away.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” one man said, casting a baleful eye up the steps.

“He’s Battista’s boy,” another man said, in the far more hushed tones of respect.

“Gianbattista’s getting senile to rely on him,” the other man sneered. “Fucking wild card.”

“Well, seems Battista’s not coming personally.”

Stefano inched closer, ostensibly to settle at one of the small round tables scattered around the house, and pretended to be interested in the glass of salt sticks nobody else had touched.

“What’s he up to these days, anyway?”

“Breeding roses, they say.” The boss ignored his companion’s incredulous snort. “For all intents and purposes, Battista’s retired. I’d say the boy’s making sure nobody comes calling in favors.”

“Security?”

“Oh yeah. He killed Diego Carbone. In self-defense.”

The other man grimaced. “I’d heard Carbone was dead, but not who did him.”

“I have it on good information. He did Diego. Pumped him full of lead and then strangled him. It was a massacre. Diego shot him, too. Put the boy in the hospital for a few months—blood poisoning or some shit like that. People say he’s just as insane as Carbone now.”

“Cazzo.” The man glanced up the stairs, but the driver was gone. “I believe it.” He looked around as if trying to escape the conversation, then stood and followed a servant with a silver tray of canapés.

Stefano made eye contact with the boss who’d been left behind. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing that conversation. Stefano Marino.” Stefano offered his hand.

Gathering information beat sitting near the fireplace being bored. The thought that the driver had killed Diego—an enforcer so violent as to be virtually insane—made him uneasy. He didn’t hear much news from the east coast, wrapped up as he was in the microcosm of his own territory and his immediate interests. But some interesting names in all that. Il Gentiluomo, Gianbattista Falchi, cultured on the outside with his mild manners and graying temples, an old-style consigliere like straight out of The Godfather. Stefano had met him only once, warned and aware that Falchi was a trickster and schemer, yet still not immune to his charisma.

How curious that the old consigliere trusted his security to this young killer who didn’t seem to give a fuck about tradition. Maybe as a retiree with still-considerable influence, Gianbattista Falchi could afford to ignore tradition, too.

“You’re still here,” a voice said at his back.

Stefano turned around to find himself standing way, way too close to the driver. Those black eyes were without light, without reflection. The stare punched the air from his lungs, and those lips . . . God, those lips. Distantly, he heard his conversation partner making his excuses, but he paid the man no mind, and neither did the driver. He could feel the heat from the driver’s body. Imagined touching. Being touched. He blinked and stepped away.

Only then did he realize the driver had changed and showered, as promised. His short hair was still wet, and he was wearing a severe black suit over a white shirt. No tie. The suit was cut to hide the gun under his right shoulder, but also showed off a whole lot of lean muscle. Not an ounce of fat on him.

Stefano swallowed. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“They call me Barracuda.” No smile, just stating a fact. The name was oddly fitting for that expressionless face. “Silvio Spadaro.”

Spadaro was offering his hand. Stefano took it, the grip firm and dry, the skin rough. Of course, he was a killer, a sicario, so he’d have to touch guns enough to harden against them. Stefano swallowed. He shouldn’t be thinking about what this hand touched and how. “Stefano Marino.”

“I know.” Spadaro lifted an eyebrow, and didn’t release Stefano’s hand. “How long have you been waiting for the old man to die?”

“Leukemia takes a while. We’ve had some false alarms in the past.”

“This time it’s real. That’s why I’m here.” Spadaro kept holding his hand, and Stefano realized he was beginning to sweat. It wasn’t fear. The man was just so intense. Not freakish, not insane. Just mental games, psychological warfare. A killer’s job.

“So, how—” he forced his hand from the man’s grip “—is Gianbattista Falchi these days?”

“Sta bene.” Spadaro cast a quick glance around the room. When the eye contact broke, Stefano could breathe again. But then the eyes came back, staring him point-blank in the face. “He sent me to pay his respects.”

“Why’s he not coming personally?”

“Want the truth or a polite lie?”

Stefano huffed. “Surely he’d say goodbye to his old friend?”

“He fucking hates the rest of the family,” Spadaro said flatly. “And he hates the smell of hospitals. The lies, the polite smiles. He said he wouldn’t trust himself not to make a scene.”

Seemed Gianbattista had embraced his retirement. Or saw a danger to himself here. Stefano filed the thought away. “So he figures you of all people won’t?”

Spadaro’s lips quirked. “Maybe I’m here to make sure the old guy meets Death properly this time. Do you know what’s going on in people’s heads here?”

“I have an educated guess.” Stefano reached for the glass of salt sticks, more unnerved than he wanted to admit by the killer’s comments. He didn’t expect violence, but you never really knew with the family, did you?

“Yeah, well, fuck ’em.” Spadaro cast another glance at the assembled Mafiosi. “I wouldn’t change places with any of them.”

Was that a slip of the mask? Calculated provocation? “Oh? Why not?”

“You know what they did to Joey D’Amato?”

Stefano straightened. Why would Spadaro mention the faggot? Way too crass and unsettling, especially considering he’d been vanished, not even a body to bury.
Spadaro studied him, head tilted. “That’s why I don’t belong to anybody,” he said quietly, but with the force and conviction of a kidney punch. “I’m not following their fucking rules.” He swept the crowd again with his expressionless black eyes, then fixed them on Stefano’s face.

Stefano’s lips tingled. It was still hard to breathe and he had no idea why. He couldn’t let this man intimidate him. Couldn’t be seen as too interested. Barracuda or not—even Gianbattista Falchi’s protetto or not—he could afford zero suspicion. He’d be dead. Fuck Spadaro for flustering him so, and fuck himself for getting flustered, but he’d never show it. “Well, give Falchi my best wishes when you return to him.”

“Will do.” Spadaro sketched an ironic salute and stepped away.

Stefano fought the urge to straighten his tie, fought harder against the urge to watch the Barracuda cut through the assembled groups of men.

He caught Vince’s gaze, and though his bodyguard relaxed a little, he still looked worried. Stefano could see why. A sicario who belonged to a “retired” consigliere, and not just any pensioner, but crafty old Gianbattista Falchi, who’d been more powerful in his own right than many bosses. That was all manner of disturbing. “Paying his respects” by being anything but respectful. Mentioning D’Amato like killing the faggot was somehow wrong. Mentioning him in fucking public.

He stood around, restless, then noticed Luigi approach Spadaro and touch his shoulder. The black eyes flared and Spadaro glowered at Luigi as if he were about to take the older man’s head clean off. But he reached into his suit jacket, pulled his gun from his holster with two fingers, and handed it to Luigi. The consigliere took it without batting an eyelash, then went upstairs. Spadaro followed.

Vince stepped to his side. “That’s really fucking impressive. Arrives here and gets seen almost immediately.”

“Well, he was sent by Gianbattista Falchi.”

Vince nodded solemnly. “I don’t like his attitude.”

“I fucking hate it.” The way the man’s presence made his skin tingle wasn’t hatred, but that wasn’t something he could admit. Spadaro seemed to have that effect on people. The fact that he clearly carried weight and power was even worse.

So what was this guy’s game?

Dark Soul Volume 1 is available for purchase at Riptide Publishing: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/dark-soul-vol-1

Dark Soul Volume 2 is available for pre-sale http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/dark-soul-vol-2 as is Volume 3 http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/dark-soul-vol-3

Where can we find your website?

Website: http://www.aleksandrvoinov.com/

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/38618.Aleksandr_Voinov_s_Group
Goodreads profile:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3074905.Aleksandr_Voinov
Blog: http://www.aleksandrvoinov.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @vashtan
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/groups/220403907986697/

A Chip in His Shoulder by L.A. Witt

2011-10-28T19:03:00.000-05:00

L.A. Witt Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I can balance a ladder on my chin while mixing a martini and reciting Shakespearean sonnets.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Well, I haven’t yet settled on a title, but I’m definitely leaning toward Grand Poobah of the Universe.

Do you have a favorite quote?

Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug. (no idea who originally said it)

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

A sequel to my cyberpunk/vampire story. Additional books in the Tooth & Claw series, which is my vamp/were ménage series. More kink. More transgender and genderqueer characters. Steampunk. Cyberpunk. Really, it could be anything.

Where can we find your website?

Under the sink behind the dishwasher detergent. If it’s not there, it’s http://www.loriawitt.com/

My October 30 release, A Chip in His Shoulder from Riptide Publishing is available for pre-order at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/chip-his-shoulder

Here's a blurb:

“Contract killer” is a fitting job for a vampire, and it suits Liam just fine. Cast down from the wealth and status of the Sky for taking a human lover, Liam lurks in the poor and pollution-choked Gutter, killing to survive. Between his natural strengths and his Cybernetix mods, no mark has ever escaped him.

Liam’s ex-lover Daniel is the heir to Cybernetix—and its greatest threat. Horrified by people less man than machine and the exploitation of Gutter factory workers, he’d rather destroy Cybernetix than inherit it . . . if his father doesn’t destroy him first.

Years of anger and a heap of mods have kept Daniel and Liam apart. When Liam is hired to slaughter a man in his glass Sky tower, he walks right into a Daniel-shaped trap. Daniel’s father has betrayed them both, and only by working together can Daniel and Liam survive the coming day. They have no reason to trust each other, but as the dawn looms, a bargain that began with the simple urge to live soon reminds them of the love they once shared. Can they find each other again, or will the Cybernetix assassins find them first?

Once a Marine by Cat Grant

2011-10-14T19:30:00.004-05:00

Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What is your favorite genre to read?

I actually LOVE historicals and mysteries, but no way would I ever attempt writing them. The research alone would do me in!

Do you have a favorite quote?

“Kill all my demons, and my angels might die too.” – Tennessee Williams

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

My new m/m contemporary romance, ONCE A MARINE, will be available October 30^th from Riptide Publishing.

It’s my first book with them, and I’m very excited!

Where can we find your website?

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cat-Grant/123354784391947

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/CatGrant2009

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1912055.Cat_Grant

My website: http://www.catgrant.com/

Sucks & Blows by Storm Grant

2011-09-30T22:19:00.000-05:00

Storm Grant - Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

That I’m funny. Also young and beautiful. But I’m not lying about the funny.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Funny you should ask. Years ago I was a big fan of the Highlander franchise—the one with the immortals. And then I fell for vampires. So in my fantasy world, I’m an immortal who’s first death was to be turned by a vampire. So I can go out in the sunlight, and eat real food, but also… wait. Should I be talking about my fantasies on the internet?

What is your favorite genre to read?

I read across genres because I’m looking for humor. I’ve read all 38 Discworld books, and am up to Lean Mean Thirteen in the Stephanie Plum series.

I’ll read mainstream if it’s humorous, and my favorite book of a few years ago was a thriller called Beat the Reaper about a Mafia hitman turned doctor. It has subtitles the same way Burn Notice use voiceovers: When you’re building a bomb…

My favorite books of all time are Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Sir Terry Pratchett, Lamb, by Christopher Moore, and Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins.

If it’s funny, send it my way.

Oddly, I don’t read a lot of romance. Why that’s odd, is that I’m a huge fan of the RWA, and a member of several chapters. I can’t recommend the RWA highly enough. When we founded (I was there but I didn’t do anything much), the Rainbow Chapter, I fully expected to get flack. But the RWA is now a progressive, professional organization, and since the paperwork was filled out correctly, we got our charter on the first try.

Do you have a favorite quote?

I collect them. I have a document I started years ago called “Clever Things,” which has grown to 31 pages. It’s a single-space list of all the puns and jokes and witticisms I’ve come up with or come across over the years. I guess one of my favorites is

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former. ~ Albert Einstein

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I’ve just sent the first draft of a new story, tentatively titled FEW ARE CHOSEN off to beta. It’s a charming first-love story about an apprentice warrior who meets his match in an apprentice wizard. Together they defeat a demon and fall in love. It’ll finish up around 12,000 words and I’ve promised it to Riptide Publishing, if they’ll have me.

Where can we find your website?

Author Name: Gina Grant w/a Storm Grant

Email address: storm.grant@gmail.com

Website URL: www.stormgrant.com

Blog URL: http://storm-grant.livejournal.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/stormgrant

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/stormgrant

Goodreads Page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2836549.Storm_Grant

Golden Dancer by Tara Lain

2011-09-25T09:53:00.002-05:00

Available Sept 27 from Loose Id

Excerpt ADULT:

A reporter and the billionaire he’s investigating for art theft fall for a beautiful, golden dancer forging a ménage of love and lies that could send one to prison and one to the morgue. Uncovering secrets requires baring more than just the soul.

He half believed the reason his investigation was going nowhere was because he didn’t want to succeed. Now that he knew Daniel -- in more than the Biblical sense -- he didn’t really want the man to be guilty. Or, at least, he was having a tough time with the idea of bringing him down. Shit! What kind of a fucking reporter was he? But it was possible that Daniel didn’t do it. It was possible!

On top of a boatload of frustration over his stalled investigation, Mac was also crawly with sexual frustration. From celibate to addict in a week. He stalked around his little house like a caged animal, thought about the Laguna gay bars, and rejected the idea as too scary and kind of repulsive. He’d even thought of trying out the boy-toy service he used for Kizwalski, but that qualified as full-on creepy. What he wanted was Trelain. Trelain’s ass, yes, but also those turquoise eyes looking at him like he -- what did Debbie call it? -- hung the moon. He missed the dancer with an ache he would have thought impossible just weeks ago. Yeah, and to be honest, he kind of missed the damned billionaire too. Crap.

Tara Lain never met a beautiful boy she didn’t love – at least on paper. A writer of erotic romance, mostly ménage and male/male, Tara loves all her characters, but especially her handsome heroes. A lifelong writer of serious non-fiction, Tara only fell in love with EROM in 2009 and, through perseverance and lots of workshops, had the first novel she ever wrote published in January of 2011. After an exotic life of travel all over the world and work in television, education and advertising, Tara settled in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and opened her own small marketing business. She paints, collages, and started practicing yoga “way before it was fashionable”. Passionate about diversity, justice, inclusion and new ideas, she says on her tombstone it will read, “Yes”.

Website: http://www.taralain.com

Author blog: http://taralain.blogspot.com

Salad on the Side by Karenna Colcroft

2011-09-18T10:37:00.001-05:00

Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?
I've been writing since I was five years old, and started writing erotic romance in 2006 after a friend issued a challenge. My first erotic romance e-book, which is now unavailable, was published in March 2009. Until 2010, I only wrote hetero romance; although I was interested in M/M romance, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to write it well. I sucked up my courage and wrote my first M/M novel, Salad on the Side, with encouragement from several friends on Z.A. Maxfield's Yahoo loop; that book was released by MLR Press in June 2011, and the sequel is coming soon. My hetero romances have been published by publishers including Pink Petal Books, Ellora's Cave, and Passion in Print Press. I also write young adult fiction under a different name, and have had several novels published in that genre.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?
I would be myself, only with more money coming in from my books and a couple of movie or TV series deals based on my books, And a bigger house.

What is your favorite genre to read?
I read some of everything, but I'd say paranormal/urban fantasy is my favorite. I like the "real world" where unreal things happen, or where werewolves, vampires, etc. co-exist with humans, knowingly or not.

Do you have a favorite quote?
My favorite quote is something a friend of mine said to me several years ago. At the time our friendship was pretty new and had mostly only happened online. He persuaded me to drive a couple hours to a party that he and a group of other people from the online chat group where we'd met were attending. As I was leaving to head home, he said to me, "You're a beautiful woman. Don't let anyone f**k with you." Up to that point, I'd had a pretty rough time of things; I was about six months out of an abusive marriage, struggling to raise my daughters, and trying to figure out how to be alone. I had pretty much no confidence and didn't trust much of anyone. Those words from my friend made a huge impact on me.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?
Oh, where to start? Currently I have a novella titled What We Did Last Night under contract with Ellora's Cave; it's about a one-night stand that turns into more. As mentioned, the sequel to Salad on the Side, a novel titled Veggie Burgers to Go, is under contract with MLR Press. Those two books are now the first two in a series called Real Werewolves Don't Eat Meat; I currently have three more books planned, though the characters may change things. I'm also working on a hetero shifter novel, Beta Test, which is set in the same universe as Real Werewolves and includes some of the same characters. That hasn't been submitted yet. I have a few other romance projects in the planning stages.
On the young adult side, I have four novels under contract now, with another, about Tobias Rogan from Real Werewolves (long before he was an alpha), almost ready to submit. (I deliberately haven't given my young adult author name here, but if anyone's curious please feel free to contact me and I'll share.)

Where can we find your website? My site is http://www.karennacolcroft.com, and you'll find links there to my Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube, along with buy links and information about all my released and upcoming books.

Breathe by Sloan Parker

2011-09-11T13:27:00.001-05:00

Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I’d like them to know I have many more stories I want to tell. All about love and passion and finding your true path in life, as well as in love. I hope to keep on sharing these stories so long as someone wants to read them. Heck, even after that I’ll keep on writing them. It’s impossible to stop playing “what if” in my head.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

Great question. I don’t think I’d ever want to be someone else for too long (I really do love my life), but it would be fun to have the freedom to live all over the world. To stay in a new place for a few months (with my sweetie, of course) and just experience the sights and sounds, take it all in so I could set a story in that location. Then move on to the next place I’ve always wanted to visit.

What is your favorite genre to read?

My first love is contemporary romance and erotic romance. If it’s an m/m romance, I’ll read almost any genre (contemporary, sci-fi, suspense, mystery, historical).

Do you have a favorite quote?

I have many that I love, but here’s one of my favorites: “It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.” - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

My third novel-length romance is due out December 13, 2011 from Loose Id. It’s called TAKE ME HOME and is a love story about trust and acceptance and uncovering the truths hidden in a 60-year-old journal. I’m currently working on an erotic romantic suspense for Walter Simon (a secondary character in MORE). I’m also writing a serial novel for my website. Readers can learn about the next installment by following my blog or signing up for my newsletter. You can find links for both at sloanparker.com

Where can we find your website?
www.sloanparker.com

Thanks for having me on the site!

Alliance: Vol 1 PRINT by Jambrea Jo Jones

2011-09-04T19:25:00.000-05:00

Literary Nymphs Author Interview

Jambrea Jo Jones

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I would like fans to know that I write about love. It doesn't matter to me the gender of the characters just that they fall in love and are happy.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

I would be me only I would be a full time writer. I like who I am and I like the voices in my head. lol I just wish I could focus on them more and not have to worry about a day job. That day will come. I hope. Lol

What is your favorite genre to read?

This is hard because my reading tastes are so eclectic. I do enjoy a really good Sci-Fi. Right now I'm reading mystery. It's a series about a gay detective. Donald Strachey Mysteries. I read what I write which is just about a little bit of everything. Lol

Do you have a favorite quote?

I do and I just recently found it. "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself."

~D.H. Lawrence

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I'm currently working on finishing up my Alliance series which is m/m sci-fi and I have a fun fairy tale series I want to do which will also be m/m and I need to finish up my last m/f shifter series. So I have a few things in the fire right now. Lol

Where can we find your website?

www.jambrea.com and I try to keep it up to date. :)

Learning to Samba by Johnny Miles

2011-08-28T10:59:00.000-05:00

Literary Nymphs Author Interview

What would you like new fans to know about you?

Oh, man. I'm not sure. Ummm, hmmm. I guess one thing is that the only romance I've ever read was in junior high school. I read Rosemary Rogers', "Sweet, Savage Love." But I'd never read a m/m romance before. I've attempted to read other romance stories in the past, like Harlequin, but could never get into them for some reason.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

In my fantasy world I would be Captain Jack Harkness, from Torchwood. For those that don't know who he is, Captain Jack is a character created by British writer Russell T. Davies.

Jack is a bold, brash, brassy man with a cocky confidence who is part rogue, part devil, part walking and dripping testosterone. Not unlike Rhett Butler.

I also wouldn't mind the power to end war, persuade people to love each other, eliminate poverty and eradicate famine.

Alas, I'm just me. <Heavy sigh> So I'll keep fantasizing that instead of Captain Jack, or those other powers, I'll become a best-selling, genre-crossing author. I'll make so much money I'll be able to stop never again have to worry about where my next meal will come from, if the electric was paid for, and I'll be able to pay for health insurance. LOL! Yeah, what can I say? I'm one of those, living from check-to-check.

It would also be nice to take vacations where I can travel the globe and be inspired by the people I meet, to write stories that will show the rest of the world that, we're all pretty much the same and want very similar things. We're just scared children living on borrowed time and must, therefore, embrace every moment while there's still breath in our bodies.

What is your favorite genre to read?

As long as the story pulls me I don't know that I have a favorite genre. Mostly, I gravitate towards dark stories. Things of horror and angst. Uplifting stories that, in the end, show the courageous side of the heart and humanity. I also love a good thriller! But then I also enjoyed J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series as well as Armistead Maupin's "Tales of The City."

Do you have a favorite quote?

Oh, yes! Ever since I heard it, close to twenty years ago, "Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!" Rosalind Russell said it in "Auntie Mame" which also happens to be one of my favorite movies.

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I think for the immediate future, there will certainly be a few more m/m romance stories. In the semi-distant future I hope to work on screenplay adaptations of my stories. It would be awesome to see them in the movies. Whether that comes to pass or not...I guess we'll see, right?

As for the far future, I'll let that fickle lover, Muse, tell me where he wants to go next. For where he beckons, that's where I follow. As long as I remain inspired and Muse continues to play with me I will be a very grateful and humble servant.

Where can we find your website?

My website is: www.johnny-miles.com.

My blog is: http://johnny-miles.blogspot.com/

Thanks so much for having me!

Johnny Miles

www.johnny-miles.com

The Elements of Love by S.D. Grady

2011-08-22T09:37:00.000-05:00

Author Interview: S.D. Grady

What would you like new fans to know about you?

About me? Perhaps that all is not as it appears...it’s something I’ve fought all my life. I mean, who would think a historical romance author would have a serious obsession with NASCAR? But I do. And can be distracted from the pretty cars by a corseted gown in two seconds flat. Maybe there is something to all this steampunk...

Then again, I believe that the two worlds belong where they are...not intersecting. I got more than a little upset when NASCAR decided they would throw the dress code for pit road and garages out the window this year. Now, stilettos, strapless sundresses and shorts are permitted in a world where lugnuts can fly off an air gun at hundreds of miles an hour. Not practical. Although the cameras do like the eye candy that comes with the drivers.

So, when next you meet a woman with more than a few gray hairs, who dresses conservatively, laughs constantly and rarely gives people the evil eye, it’s best not to peg her as anything. She just might write the next smoking hot erotica story, or a tale in a far off land or cover one of your favorite sports from the media center.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

I don’t know...I really don’t! I’ve a few things on my bucket list, but those are achievable. At least that’s how I look at life. I like being me. Perhaps if I could be a cat for a while, that would be intriguing. One never knows what a cat is thinking...wouldn’t you like to know?

What is your favorite genre to read?

Historical romances, hot contemporary erotica and the odd fantasy thrown in for good measure. Of course, I can get lost in research for days at a time.

Do you have a favorite quote?

"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." –Ralph Waldo Emerson

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

The Silver Scream will be releasing August 10^th at Purple Sword Publications

Part of the Gremlins Series

Film school student, Gilda Albright, has taken a job in the newly refurbished Orpheum Theatre as a movie projectionist. The gem from another era prompts her imagination to take flight, and she invites her boyfriend Seth to a private screening. Looking like a movie star from the 50’s, she strips in the spotlight, ensnaring Seth’s lust and drawing the eager eyes of another to her buxom figure. The building takes on a life of its own—fear invades Gilda’s workdays. Will the unseen gremlin let her go or fulfill its erotic obsession with a vision from the past?

~~~

Future projects include a historical/fantasy romance entitled "The Heart of the Dragon", which explores the beginning of the vampire myth. "Dinner and a Movie" is a contemporary erotica...stolen moments under the table at your local eatery ;) And I'm just starting on a Fairy Tale project...something a little different for me.

You can also tune into my weekly NASCAR commentary in The Frontstretch Newsletter on Tuesdays: http://groups.google.com/group/thefrontstretch

Where can we find your website?

http://sdgrady.info

Sonoran Heat by Katrina Strauss

2011-08-13T15:44:00.000-05:00

What would you like new fans to know about you?

I'd like new readers to know that I'm happy to have them! I write erotic romance with a little bit of everything, including M/M, M/F, and Ménages. I explore contemporary, historical, and paranormal themes. I tend to write "dark romance" because hey, the dark side is more fun, but I have a few sweet stories tucked into the bunch. Ultimately, I aim to tell a good love story and hope readers get that from my work.

In your fantasy world who or what would you be?

A beachcomber in

Jamaica

. There's still time.

What is your favorite genre to read?

I read a lot of YA lately. I'd say it offers me a break from the very adult genre I write, but today's YA is much more mature than what I grew up with! My current addiction is Michael Grant's Gone series, which is about as grim and gritty as it gets.

Do you have a favorite quote?

"From there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere." Dr. Seuss

What can we look forward to in the future from you?

I have a few projects simmering on the backburner. I'm almost done writing the next Eldritch Legacy book. It's an M/F/M titled A Forfeit Owed and picks up twenty years after the first book, Secrets Revealed. It tells the story of how Inga's sons compete for the same woman.

M/M-wise, readers can anticipate Blue Ruin 5, as well as Blue Ruin offshoots featuring secondary characters. I honestly can't say when, exactly, I will write them, but I assure readers that Derek, Blue, and company are never far from my mind. I'd also like to finish the WWII story that's been haunting my hard drive for three years now.

Where can we find your website?
http://www.katrinastrauss.com/